Cho Must Die a Horrible, Painful Death
by NQDonne
Summary: Cho's messing Harry about leads him to consider... other options aka: Draco Malfoy. Banished to WIP hell not going to be finished, sorry. See Livejournal for chapters 1115 but after that, no more I'm afraid.
1. Mission: 'Snog a Lot'

A/N: This is now the revised version of this story, as it appears on Fiction Alley. Enjoy :). And thank you as always for the lovely reviews.  
  
Prologue: "Mission - Snog-a-lot"  
  
In the grand tradition of angsty teenagers, Harry Potter lay in his four- poster bed, unable to sleep and thinking philosophically (as much as a seventeen year old can) about his love life. And he came to the conclusion that it, quite simply, sucked.  
  
And indeed, it did. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, lived a life devoid of all the pleasantries associated with love, lust, and quick shags. Of course, this was all Cho Chang's fault, though Harry, ever kind-hearted and noble, wasn't apt to admit it to himself. He refused to see himself as the Rebound from Hell, though he didn't exactly look back on his relationship with Cho lovingly. The Rebound from Hell happened during Harry's fifth year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
Cho, fresh from suffering the death of her boyfriend Cedric, was looking for some attention, a shoulder to cry on, and a little nookie. And who better to fulfill her needs than the Boy Who Saw Cedric Diggory Die?  
  
Harry had been enamored with Cho Chang since his third year, when the little floozy tried to throw him off during a Quidditch game by smiling and winking at him.  
  
So, Harry's fifth year was filled with awkward kisses (salty from Cho's crying over Cedric); public arguments in cafes over Harry's nonexistent relationship with Hermione and Cho's questions about Cedric; and Cho's yanking Harry up and down like a yo-yo.  
  
Sixth year was no better. Harry gave up on girls, essentially, not wishing to deal with their perplexing emotions and mood-swings. He still noticed them, of course, but when they would give him the eye or come over to flirt with him, he would go all cold and find a way to high-tail it out of the area as soon as possible. It was awkward, but not having to deal with another wayward crush made his life decidedly easier.  
  
After a while, the girls of Hogwarts caught onto the idea that Harry simply wasn't interested, and they ceased trying to gain his favor altogether. All in all, this left Harry with the status of being 'permanently romantically unattached,' which meant that, aside from Ron and Hermione's company, he was alone much of the time.  
  
Thus, in his seventh year, Harry, having grown into his lanky figure and now sporting a rather attractive physique, finally came to the realization that his love life sucked, though it was in part due to his own desire to cut himself off from things.  
  
Further pondering his love life, Harry shifted in his bed, finding the bed sheets hopelessly twisted around his legs. He hated nights like these, when he just couldn't sleep. Whether it was the thoughts that kept him up or if he delved into his thoughts because he couldn't sleep, he didn't know.  
  
Nonetheless, he settled back into his meandering thoughts. It all seemed rather hopeless. When he wasn't interested in dating anyone, every girl in the school (and many hundred that he didn't even know, through owl post) threw themselves at him. Now, when he was ready to "jump back in" (so to speak), there wasn't a girl willing to get within a ten mile radius of him.  
  
Sure, it was of his own doing, but he was feeling increasingly lonely. Sure, he had Ron and Hermione, but it's not like he could snog either of them. Or, at least, he certainly didn't want to. Especially considering that they seemed to be currently snogging each other, and the idea of a threesome was rather. um, unappealing to him.  
  
Harry felt pathetic picking over these silly details. He should have other, more important things on his mind - like how and when Voldemort was going to kill him. It wasn't like he needed a girlfriend, or anything; he just wanted to connect with somebody after being lost in his dark world for so long. He'd bombed out miserably with Cho, hadn't fancied anyone since, and was lonely as a result. He wanted a girlfriend, or at least someone with whom to snog a bit.  
  
Harry pondered his dejected situation quite often, especially when he couldn't fall asleep, which was nearly every night. He was rapidly becoming a full-fledged insomniac, not exactly because he couldn't physically sleep, but because he didn't want to. Though he'd practiced and strengthened the skills necessary to excel in Occlumency, he was still anxious that Voldemort would creep into his subconscious once more. Even if his mind wasn't invaded by the Dark Lord, Harry still had chilling nightmares when he slept.  
  
Harry was never much the "great thinker" (that was Hermione's role), but hundreds of sleepless nights had left Harry the time to develop several interesting, albeit potentially crack-pot, theories on his life.  
  
Firstly, he decided, the "Boy Who Lived" could never live a normal life, if he were fated to live at all. He was destined to save the world or die, or both, so either way he wasn't exactly suited to most social company. These incredibly dark thoughts controlled him at times, though his friendship with Ron and Hermione would always save him from going over the edge. This didn't mean that he didn't occasionally go on bitter ranting binges, where he would hurl hurtful statements at them. He may have grown up a good bit since fifth year, but he was still apt to hold his emotions in until they boiled over and he exploded.  
  
They always seemed to stick by him, though. Nonetheless, with the onset of their romantic relationship, they had grown apart slightly. Harry stopped telling them some of the more intimate thoughts that swirled around his head. There are just some deep, disturbing thoughts that you don't share with friends, even best friends.  
  
Moreover, the only person Harry ever felt he could really talk to was dead. Sirius had been the closest thing that Harry had ever had to a parent. Sure, Mrs. Weasley was a parental figure, but not like Sirius had been. And Harry certainly couldn't ignore the fact that he wasn't her child. He wasn't anyone's child anymore. He was fast becoming a man, a man with very little hope for his future.  
  
His friends loved him, sure, but it wasn't the kind of love that he reckoned he needed - the unconditional kind that survived through the worst storms, or in his case, wars. There wasn't anyone with whom Harry could let go of the walls he had built up, and just be himself. He needed to find someone who truly understood him, and the position that he was in. Well, for the time being, at least, he would settle for someone to snog.  
  
The question remained: with whom could Harry mess about?  
  
Harry considered his options. Anything below sixth year would be considered pedophilia, (well, the sex anyway), so that left him with a small handful of sixth and seventh year girls. Hermione was out of the question (unless he could magically banish the image of Ron and Hermione fooling around under the Invisibility Cloak from his head). Her roommates, Lavendar and Parvati might be possible, but neither of them were exactly known for particular substance or fidelity. Ginny was an ever-present option in Harry's mind, though Harry reckoned she was completely over him and wouldn't appreciate "emergency love life resuscitation sex" if she weren't.  
  
But Harry needed to find someone, after all, he didn't want to die a virgin. That was the very thing - Harry was very inexperienced and had almost no clue what he was doing, even with himself. He was determined, nonetheless, to figure things out; for if he didn't succeed, he would subsequently be the only red-blooded seventeen year old boy at Hogwarts and possibly in the whole of England who hadn't shagged his socks off. In fact, he was most likely the only boy in the UK who had barely reached 2nd base with himself. It was really quite embarrassing.  
  
And considering that Harry was English (where 16 is legal), this fact was particularly pathetic. So, the mission was a complicated one. Harry needed to find a suitable girl with whom to hook up so he could give kissing another go (snogging Cho had been truly heinous, on so many levels) and so he could be devirginized. Of course, for Harry, this was a real contradiction. Snogging randomly was one thing, but sex (especially virgin sex - awkward glances, movements, and leakage) hinged upon trust, and Harry didn't trust anyone.  
  
So, Harry decided to detour from loftier goals, and stick to the "Snog-a- lot" plan. It's truly scary what one hormonally-crazed insomniac can come up with.  
  
***  
  
End Prologue 


	2. Delusion & Getting to Know Little Harry

Chapter One: Delusion and Getting to Know "Little Harry"  
  
"Jesus Christ! What the f*ck did she just do with my tongue?" Harry was mid- kiss with Ginny Weasley, who had been surprisingly open to the idea of snog- testing with Harry.  
  
"Dear God. she bit my tongue. Ginny's kinky. Ginny! Bad mental images, bad mental images. Oh wait. kissing. Uhhhhh. mmmmhhnnn.. Weird. Don't open your eyes, don't open your eyes, don't open your eyes.damn it! She's looking at me. Why is she looking at me? Am I supposed to be doing something? Woah! There's her tongue again. What should I do with my tongue? Oh. um. okay, no. That was not good. Tongue definitely not the way to go. This is so. gross. It isn't supposed to be gross. It's supposed to be all. romantic comedy, pent-up attraction good. Gah! Can't breathe. air, air, AIR!!!!" Harry broke from the kiss, out-of-breath and incredibly freaked-out. Dean had told him that Ginny was quite good at this - a "vixen", he had said. But what Harry had just experienced was. weird, in a word. Mind you, it didn't even come close to being as bad as kissing Cho, but it certainly wasn't any better.  
  
"Harry?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrow slightly as she looked at Harry like he was an escaped mental patient. "You okay?"  
  
"Um, yeah," Harry answered, trying to smile and shuffling his feet slightly. "I just. needed some air," he finished.  
  
"Oh, I. see," Ginny said, still not quite convinced that Harry wasn't suffering from a brain contusion, or something. It certainly couldn't be the other option: that Harry was the first man in history to not respond to her kisses.  
  
"Yeah," Harry continued, "I was never much of a consistent "breather," you know." (Ginny had no idea what the hell he was talking about) The prattling went on. "I, um, tried out for the school swim team once, but I was rubbish at breathing underwater." Harry chuckled uneasily. "Yeah. I've got to, you know, do something. Now. Away from here. Bye!"  
  
Harry left Ginny's room in a rush, desperate to escape her skeptical stare. "Oh well," Ginny thought, "maybe he's gay."  
  
Indeed. Miss Weasley had a point. Not that Harry was clued into it. yet.  
  
***  
  
"Dear Lord, that was terrible," Harry muttered to himself once safely inside his own dormitory. Harry couldn't quite figure out why it was terrible, mind you, but these things aren't exactly cut and paste, so we can hardly blame him. Anyhow, yes: Harry was confused. The kiss had started out fine - Ginny had gingerly pressed her lips against his, whilst pressing one hand against his chest, effectively pushing him up against the wall, as her fingers ran from his stomach over his shoulder to grasp the back of his neck. (Ginny, you see, is a bit. domineering. *teehee*) After a brief moment, Ginny ran her tongue along his lips, urging him to part them. He got the message, and reluctantly concurred. Ginny had started to French Harry, which, theoretically should have thrilled him, but did not.  
  
The lively redhead's oral talents had done absolutely nothing for Harry Potter. Just like with Cho, there were no butterflies flitting about his stomach, he felt no goosebumps, and his thoughts never once wandered upon words such as "yes," "good," or "bloody hell!" (in the good sense). These would have been, Harry figured, appropriate reactions to a kiss. Ron had always described a slight tingling feeling whenever he kissed Hermione. Dean and Seamus were insistent that they went all numb and felt incredibly sated whenever they were snogging (though Harry wasn't sure if they were talking about snogging each other or not). Instead, Harry felt nothing but ambivalent awkwardness. In effect, he felt absolutely nothing.  
  
This worried Harry. He could explain away his misgivings about kissing Cho. She had, after all, been crying over Cedric at the time. Not exactly a libido enhancer. He could not, however justify feeling nothing whilst Ginny was kissing him.  
  
"Maybe I should just try it with another girl" Harry calculated. "Yes. That's it. Another girl. I mean: Ginny is like a sister to me. That's probably why kissing her was so weird."  
  
On the other hand, perhaps Harry was very talented when it came to delusional justifications. But on with the story. In consideration of Harry's "sister-feelings theory" (prat), Harry decided that he should seek to snog-test with someone he hadn't known since he was eleven.  
  
This left very few possibilities. Parvati and Lavander were no-go, as were most of the Hufflepuffs with whom he had always shared Herbology. It also ruled out all of the Slytherin girls. If you're as bad at logical deduction as Harry appears to be, it will take you, say five minutes to figure out that this left only Ravenclaw.  
  
Harry considered an incredibly short list of contenders, considering that he knew very few girls outside of his year who qualified as being 'legal.' Eventually, he settled on Luna Lovegood. He had, afterall, known her for a good time (two years), but had come into her acquaintance after his hormones had begun to rage. Plus, he liked her. She was odd, but very nice. He could certainly relate to her. Surely, he would enjoy kissing her. Harry approached Luna one day after seeing her sitting by the lake, starring off into space. He explained his situation (kind of) and she agreed to snog- test with him.  
  
Kissing Luna was very different from kissing Ginny. Luna may have had her head in the clouds, but when she kissed Harry, her hands were down his pants. And all over him, for that manner. She was a surprisingly tactile person, for someone who was off by themselves reading most of the time.  
  
The kiss began awkwardly enough. Harry stood about foot away from her and held a look of apprehension and terror in his eyes. Luna smiled a half- smile at him before she closed the space between them, suddenly plundering Harry's lips with her own.  
  
Harry found her lips to be slightly slippery, probably from whatever she had on that made them taste of cherries. She was insistent, but not demanding. All the while, her hands roamed all over his body; she particularly keen on easing her hands underneath his clothing and fingering Harry's sweaty but soft skin. It felt weird having another person touching him like that, but it didn't bother him.  
  
Then she loosened his belt buckle and moved her right hand into his trousers. Harry started at her touch, but she held him firm in their kiss by her left hand, which sat at the small of his back.  
  
She found the opening at the front of Harry's boxer shorts, and moved her hand inside to explore. Harry shifted uncomfortably, though he couldn't quite move away from her. She changed the focus of her lips from his mouth to the sensitive area of his earlobes and neck whilst fingering his flaccid member with her fingertips.  
  
Harry gasped as she made contact and awaited the moment where he would respond, but it never came. After a moment, Luna gave up, shrugging her shoulders as she moved her mouth back up to meet his. She placed a few gentle pecks on his lips and pulled away, smiling at him. Instead of saying something, she just continued smiling.  
  
Harry managed a sheepish grin. "Um, thanks," he spouted and he took off towards the castle, buckling his belt as he went.  
  
This raised (well, not exactly) a new issue with Harry: a girl (an attractive girl, no less) had had her hand on his penis, and he hadn't felt the least bit aroused. This problem went way beyond kissing. Harry feared that he might be. sexually dysfunctional. He needed a new plan.  
  
****  
  
Harry was in a weird place mentally as he moved his hand further up his thigh. Masturbating was one thing, but masturbating with a purpose was another. This was Harry's brilliant new plan: wank off and figure out what (or who) did it for him, so to speak. Thus far, he had no clue what the hell he should do. Normally, he would just feel horny and. just do it. He couldn't, for the life of him, recall what he had thought about when he'd done it, so he was scarcely in the position to coax himself into masturbating by "the usual" lurid thought or image.  
  
Harry urged himself to think, furrowing his brow and drumming his fingers on his upper thigh. He tried to come up with 'sexy thoughts.' Starting with what he knew, his mind drifted from Cho's sleek, long hair to her flirtatious eyes, and then to her salty tears as she cried over Cedric. That obviously wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he switched to lurid images of Ginny.  
  
He recalled all the times Ginny had grinned after performing a particularly naughty hex, usually on Fred and George. She was really quite pretty, Ginny, even if she did remind him a bit too much of Ron. His mind almost wandered into the dangerous territory of 'Ron,' but Harry steered himself away from it by thinking back on his kiss with Ginny. Had she really bit his tongue? How odd. He could only imagine what she was like in the bedroom, kinky, wearing leather and spanking Dean. Bad idea.  
  
Luna was probably safer, as he had no mental images of her interacting with anybody other than himself. Not that he had put in a stellar performance with her the day before. She'd touched him in ways he imagined any boy should like, but he hadn't been able to respond. He tried to will himself to, but to no avail. Similarly, at the moment, thinking about Luna touching him was doing nothing. Harry sighed with frustration. He was still down, way down.  
  
"Dammit, Harry! You've only an hour until Quidditch practice, get a move on!" Harry exclaimed to himself. For the most bizarre reason, this began to work for him. "Woah!" He grinned and reckoned that he must have a secret schedule fetish, or something. Schedules made him think of Hermione, and he considered that he should maybe be snogging her. He subsided again. Obviously Hermione was a no-go. He dissected his previous statement bit by bit in his mind. Quidditch practice. In an hour. Schedule. Flying on a broomstick. Finally somewhat at attention, Harry hand snaked down below the waistband of his boxer shorts.  
  
"Mmmnnnn. yes. Much better," he muttered. Harry began to fruitfully stroke himself. Now, Harry wasn't a big boy, so to speak. Contrary to the, um, *images* one gets in fiction that Harry is built like a formidable porn star, in this Potterverse, he's average. Delightfully average, to be specific. He ran about 6 & ½ inches long and a slightly above average 2 inches in girth. So, Harry was a happy boy. Especially at the moment.  
  
"Mmmmmmaaayeeeahhh. ride that broom!" Harry coaxed himself further with his naughty Quidditch. In his mind, he was flying high above the pitch, with random people playing their respective positions below him. Suddenly, Cho was flying at his left. She looked so. sexy riding that broom. Masturbation- fantasy-Cho giggled. Harry grinned as he shifted to a swift pumping motion.  
  
"The Snitch!" Masturbation-fantasy-Harry went into a sudden dive. He glanced on his right and found himself flying neck and neck with Malfoy, battling it out for the Golden Snitch. "Dammit Malfoy! Get the fuck out of my. aaaaahhhh!"  
  
Thinking about Malfoy was apparently a real turn on for Harry, because the intense sensations he was experiencing increased, as he became solid as a rock. "Shit! Malfoy? Oooh. yes. For the love of God!" Harry was very confused, but his masturbation fantasy was too far-gone to stop. He and Malfoy were racing towards the Snitch. Harry could almost feel the wind as it blew across his skin and sent his robes billowing out behind him. Glancing at Malfoy, he noticed that his pale blond hair was whipping about; he had obviously skipped his usual application of hair gel. He reminded Harry of a superhero, for some reason.  
  
Harry extended his arm, reaching for the Snitch. Malfoy approached from Harry's side and reached out his hand, brushing Harry's slightly. His touch was soft but the shock of it cut at Harry's skin like a razor blade. Draco looked him straight in the eyes with his ice-blue stare, and caught the Snitch. "Ahhhh.. Yes! Yes!"  
  
Harry calmed down after the last sensation of release washed over him. "Jesus fucking Christ! Malfoy?" He suddenly felt the urge to shower. He felt somewhat. dirty.  
  
"Dirty in a good way?" His inner-voice asked him. "No fucking way!" Harry proclaimed, but aloud. "Get a grip on yourself, Harry. Talking to yourself is not a good sign." Harry's inner-monologue resumed, though he couldn't be sure whether it was his deluded conscious or nagging subconscious mind that was speaking.  
  
Harry grabbed a towel and headed off to the Prefects' bathroom, glad that Ron had given him the password in a moment of guilt (over being chosen Prefect instead of Harry) and intense fear (when Harry threatened to tell Hermione that Ron fancied an erotic evening which consisted of Ron tied to the bed and Hermione with an array of dildos at her disposal). He found the room thankfully unoccupied, rushed inside, and turned on a few taps at random. Peeling his clothes off, Harry wondered about what had just happened. Had he really fantasized about Malfoy? Malfoy and Quidditch, yes, but why had his presence seemed to. urge Harry along?  
  
"Dear God.. What if I'm gay?" Harry exclaimed out loud, dropping his pants on a chair by the tub.  
  
The mermaid on the wall, who had been simpering at Harry and waving, started shuffling towards the edge of her painting and was shooting Harry some awkward and confused glances.  
  
Harry settled into the pleasantly warm water of the bath and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He couldn't like boys. could he? He'd always seemed to like girls, like Cho. Cho was lovely. Well, she was until he got to know her. But he'd certainly liked other girls.  
  
Harry racked his brains for other females after whom he had lusted. Compared to his infatuation with Cho, he didn't reckon he'd ever lusted after another girl. "But just because I haven't liked girls other than Cho, doesn't mean that I like boys," he murmered to himself. The mermaid on the wall snickered. Harry shot her a nasty look and returned to his relaxing bath.  
  
For a half hour, all that could be heard in the Prefects' bathroom was the reverberating 'drip, drip' of one of the faucets. Harry sat in silent contemplation, as he tried to wash his earlier thoughts from his mind, but they had already pervaded his senses too deeply and would not let him be.  
  
"Malfoy." Harry finally spoke. His voice sounded oddly disjointed in the marble bathroom. "Draco Malfoy." Harry furrowed his eyebrows and cried out suddenly, "Arrrghh!" He immersed himself underwater with a splash. At this point, it was not so much that Harry might fancy boys that upset him, but the fact that he appeared to fancy Malfoy in particular. He was a spoiled, cruel, poncy git. One shouldn't fancy a shag with spoiled, cruel, poncy gits, Harry was sure.  
  
Harry shut his eyes and took himself back to the image of Malfoy from earlier. The cold wind had brought a slight blush to Malfoy's otherwise pale cheeks. It made him look almost human. And his hair had looked so soft and touchable. Soft and touchable. like his hand. That was Harry's favorite part of the whole fantasy - touching Malfoy. Harry was sure he had felt sparks when Malfoy's fingers grazed his hand, even though it was all in Harry's head.  
  
Harry had no idea where to go from here. He'd never officially learned sex education, not at Muggle school, not at Hogwarts (in the sense of a class, though he and his dormmates had had more than a few conversations on the subject), and certainly not at the Dursley's. Dudley got the "birds and the bee's" talk when he and Harry were about twelve, but Harry had only heard snippets of it from the landing. Uncle Vernon had noticed him skulking there and shot him a scathing look that told Harry to get back upstairs to his bedroom. And the only opinion of homosexuality that Harry had ever heard was Aunt Petunia's mutterings about "those freaks" when a gay couple had moved into the neighborhood. They didn't stay long.  
  
Moreover, Harry didn't know anyone who was gay, or at least not anyone who had admitted it. He'd heard that Dean and Seamus occasionally snogged, for the sake of experimentation, but Harry had never been so bold as to ask Ron to experiment as well.  
  
How was he supposed to know if he was gay, if he had no idea what being gay meant? Sure, maybe he fancied boys - maybe - but what was he supposed to do about it? He reckoned he should figure out what being gay meant before he jumped to any conclusions. Could you get that kind of information at Hogwarts? Did the library carry those kinds of books? This required research, but Harry was crap at research. Research was something more on Hermione's vein.  
  
"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. The plan man had a yet another plan: he had to talk to Hermione.  
  
End Chapter One 


	3. Gay as Blazes

Chapter Two: Gay As Blazes  
  
"Um, Hermione?" Harry questioned his friend hesitantly. It'd taken him a week to both get Hermione alone and to gather up the courage to approach her with his dilemma. Admitting to your best friend that you might be gay wasn't exactly the kind of thing you looked forward to.  
  
Hermione glanced up from her study materials. "Yes, Harry?" She smiled sweetly, but her eyes indicated that, if it wasn't important, she would prefer to return to her studies.  
  
"I, um," Harry glanced around the library apprehensively. It was mostly empty, but he wanted to keep his conversation with Hermione private, so he pulled up a chair next to her and scooted as close as he could without being invasive. "I need to talk to you."  
  
Hermione cast him a bemused look, entertained by his statement of the blatantly obvious. "I'm all ears, Harry," she grinned.  
  
Harry smiled sheepishly, trying to put himself at ease and think of how to phrase his problem. "Well, I think I like somebody, you see."  
  
A glint of interest danced in Hermione's eyes; she was no gossip, but she loved juicy bits of information about her nearest and dearest. She resisted the urge to coax him along with a soothing phrase, he'd probably get nervous and stop telling her altogether.  
  
"But, it's not exactly the sort of person I've been attracted to before," Harry continued, "I, uh, I wanted to get your opinion on it."  
  
"Go ahead, Harry," Hermione cajoled, "Who do you think you like?"  
  
"Um," Harry averted his eyes from hers not about to blithely profess that it was Malfoy that held his interest, "it's a - a bloke, you see."  
  
"Oh," Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, "well, that's okay Harry. There's nothing wrong with liking boys." She reached over and touched his hand reassuringly.  
  
"I know that, Hermione. It's just. I'm not even sure if I am." he hesitated, "gay," he finished, looking around to be sure no one was listening. He leaned in closer and spoke almost at a whisper. "I don't know if it's just this one boy I like or all boys. I thought you might. know things. Like books about it."  
  
"Harry," she said quietly, "they don't really make books that can tell a person if they're gay."  
  
"That's not what I meant, Hermione," he sighed, "I don't know very much about what being gay involves. How can I know if I'm gay if I don't even know what being gay means?"  
  
"Oh," Hermione smiled weakly, mentally searching for the best way to handle the situation. "Well, I'm not exactly an expert on the subject, but I'm sure I could help you figure something out."  
  
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry let out a weary sigh.  
  
"Maybe we should talk somewhere a bit more. private," she suggested as she began collecting her things.  
  
Harry nodded resolutely and rose to follow her out of the library.  
  
**  
  
Hermione led Harry outside to a grassy knoll by the lake. They both sat down and Harry gulped.  
  
"Harry," Hermione began cautiously, "how long have you thought you might be gay?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Harry picked at his cuticles distractedly, "a week or two?"  
  
"A week or two?" Hermione looked at him, aghast. "So I really am the first person you've come to about this?"  
  
"Well, yes Hermione," Harry answered. "I wasn't getting anywhere trying to figure it out by myself. How the hell should I know what all of this means?"  
  
Hermione winced. He was getting angry, like he had in fifth year. "What is it that made you start thinking that you might be gay?"  
  
Harry took a deep breath, attempting to quell the anger that was rising in his throat. "Well, I tried kissing girls, but it did absolutely nothing for me. And then when I was. um, you *know*," he made a gesture and Hermione wordlessly mouthed 'oh', her eyes widening in understanding, "I kinda started thinking about this bloke.."  
  
He trailed off. Hermione peered at him expectantly. Obviously she needed more information, so he continued.  
  
"And it seemed to really. you know, *work* when I thought about him, and ever since then it's been like 'all blokes, all the time' in my mind. I can't stop thinking about them, well *him* really."  
  
Hermione reached over and gingerly touched her hand to his. "Can you tell me who it is, Harry?"  
  
"I, uh," he choked, "um, I don't think so. It's a bit. embarrassing."  
  
"Embarrassing?" she repeated. He nodded. "Oh. Then is it someone we know?" He nodded again, casting his eyes down on the ground.  
  
"Oh, Harry," she scooted closer to him and asked at practically a whisper, "is it Ron?"  
  
"Ugh!" he jumped back suddenly, startling her, "No! God, Hermione. do you really think I would fancy my best friend? That's just. wrong."  
  
"What's wrong with fancying Ron?" Hermione demanded indignantly.  
  
Harry chuckled slightly, "Absolutely nothing, Hermione - as long as it's you doing the fancying and not me."  
  
"I, I." she blushed ferociously, "alright, fine. You know, so now you get to tell me your secret crush."  
  
"Your liking Ron was hardly a secret, Hermione," Harry answered her, smiling for the first time since their conversation began.  
  
For a moment Hermione remained silent as she thought of all the boys of their acquaintance. A knowing look dawned on her face. "Harry, is it Neville?"  
  
Harry looked like he would be sick. "Thanks, Herm. Now I'll never get those images out of my head."  
  
"Oh," she sulked, visibly racking her brain for possibilities. "Um. Justin Finch-Fletchley?"  
  
"Seriously, Hermione," Harry rolled his eyes, "You have no faith in my good taste, do you?"  
  
She simply cast him a confused look.  
  
"He has a weird. jaw thing," he answered with a shudder.  
  
"Seamus?" He shook his head.  
  
"Dean?" Another no.  
  
"Um. Blaise Zabini?"  
  
"You're kidding me, right? He's far too feminine for my tastes," Harry scoffed.  
  
"A lot of girls - and boys - fancy Blaise Zabini," Hermione said defensively, and Harry suspected she might be one of those girls.  
  
"Yes, Hermione, but he talks to himself. He's weird."  
  
She huffed in annoyance. "Fine. You don't like feminine guys, so. Crabbe?"  
  
Harry actually retched.  
  
"Goyle?"  
  
"Ugh!" he jumped up from his seat. "You're disgusting Hermione! Those two are just. revolting."  
  
She continued, "Ernie Macmillan? Colin Creevey? Dennis Creevey?"  
  
Harry began to look increasingly agitated.  
  
"Oliver Wood? Fred & George Weasley? Professor Snape?"  
  
Harry screwed his eyes shut and balled his fists together. "Malfoy!" he shot out, refusing to open his eyes to look at her.  
  
"Excuse me?" she pondered, thinking she hadn't heard him correctly. "You'll have to say that again, Harry, 'cause I could have *sworn* you just said 'Malfoy'."  
  
Harry's face felt hot and he was sure that he was blushing. He shuffled his feet. "I did."  
  
For a moment Hermione was speechless. "Oh, wow. Wow," she paused. "*Malfoy*, Harry? Are you mad?"  
  
He turned from embarrassment to indignation. "What? This from the girl who likes Ron and Blaise Zabini? Please!"  
  
"What's *that* supposed to mean?" She jumped up to face him, her hands on her hips.  
  
"Well," Harry mused, "at least my crush is hot."  
  
"Ron is hot!" she stamped her foot.  
  
"I don't think so," he answered, crossing his arms against his chest.  
  
"Oh, please. If you think that fancying Malfoy amounts to having taste, then you can hardly comment on Ron."  
  
Harry eyed her keenly, "Are you telling me that you don't think that Malfoy is attractive? I've seen the way you look at him, so don't lie."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth, but didn't say anything for a moment. "I. can appreciate his aesthetic beauty," she continued carefully. "But that doesn't mean that I fancy him."  
  
"Sure," Harry countered, "and all that fighting that goes on between you two doesn't get you all hot and bothered?"  
  
"No!" she exclaimed, "I'd reckon that's more your reaction, Harry, if you're having masturbation fantasies about him."  
  
"I." Harry tried to protest, but she was right.  
  
"So this is why you think you're gay?" she settled back down and motioned for him to sit as well.  
  
"Well, yeah," he shifted uncomfortably as he sat down. "The first time I. thought about him in that way, I was trying to think about Cho and it just kinda. ended up that way."  
  
Hermione nodded, urging him further.  
  
"And now, since then, it's been like I'm suddenly attune to him, cause I notice him all the time. how he moves, his facial expressions, what he's wearing. And I think about him all the time, and at first it really scared me. but now it doesn't seem wrong. It feels. right."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Well, Harry, it's like I said - there's nothing wrong with being gay. Mind you, the fact that it's Malfoy you fancy is a bit disturbing, but that's beside the point. Do you fancy other boys as well? Or is it just him?"  
  
"I don't know, Hermione. I think it may just be him."  
  
"Well, you said that you tried kissing other girls, right?" Hermione tried to rationalize the situation, per usual. Harry nodded his assent. "Maybe you should try kissing boys."  
  
"I thought about that." Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "But the only person I can really see myself wanting to kiss is Malfoy."  
  
"Then maybe you should," she stated simply.  
  
"What?" Harry looked frightened all of a sudden.  
  
"Kiss Malfoy, I mean," she continued. "It would certainly give you a clue as to whether you really fancy him."  
  
"Hermione," he protested, "I can't just kiss Malfoy. What am I going to do, lock him in a room, snog the hell out of him, and memory charm him before he can say 'what?'?"  
  
"Sounds like a plan," she answered.  
  
"Ugh," he groaned as he buried his head in his hands. Why did she have to be so logical about everything?  
  
**  
  
Harry really wasn't keen on 'the plan.' In fact, he was rather convinced that none of his plans worked very well, and considering that this was the most difficult plan he'd ever come up with, it was bound to fail.  
  
Still, he felt somewhat reassured by his chat with Hermione. She had gone on to tell him that her uncle was gay, and that he said that being homosexual was pretty much like being heterosexual, save a few physical details.  
  
"It all boils down to attraction and love," she'd said. "And neither of those are gender specific."  
  
She'd been understandably fuzzy on the physical specifics, but had promised to find a book to help him out, as she was sure there were some. If all else failed, she said her uncle would be more than happy to speak to him.  
  
But now, as he sat in Transfiguration staring at the back of Malfoy's head, he wasn't sure he'd have the guts to do what he needed to. They were mortal enemies. You don't ask mortal enemies to step away for a chat with you in an empty classroom.  
  
Moreover, would he actually have the courage to stick his tongue down Malfoy's throat? He was crap at snogging girls, so how on earth should he go about snogging Malfoy?  
  
And say that he pulled it off, and snogged Malfoy. Then what? If he wasn't affected by him, then Harry would have a new problem: was he gay or was the Malfoy thing just a fluke? And if what he suspected would happen did, and Malfoy did it for him, he could hardly launch into a relationship with him. If he did everything right, Malfoy wouldn't even remember the snog.  
  
In front of him, Malfoy let out a sigh and swept a piece of hair behind his ears. He really did have lovely hair; soft and wispy. Harry almost absentmindedly reached out to touch it, but stopped h imself as he felt Hermione jab him with her elbow. Now that she knew his problem, she was keeping an eye on him. If only she could arrange his little meeting with Malfoy. Alas, Harry knew he'd have to figure that part out for himself.  
  
End Chapter Two 


	4. Another Lameass Excuse for a Duel

Chapter Three: Another Lame-ass Excuse for a Duel  
  
A/N: Please forgive the clichéd "Malfoy and Potter get into a squabble in Potions Class" bit. Frankly, I did what I had to do to get Draco naked and locked in a room with Harry. *g*  
  
**  
  
Potions was never a pleasant place to be, and today was no exception. Although the dingy classroom, located in the chilly depths of the school, was normally a shiver-inducing cold, today it was simply sweltering.  
  
The class period had begun with the room being chilly as usual, but as the students brewed a particularly difficult potion that, when concocted correctly, emitted great swells of dense vapor, the classroom became exceedingly sticky and hot. Many of the less conspicuous (to Snape's watchful eye) students were reduced to using their scrolls as fans, whereas the less stealthy sat with their mouths agape, panting like a pack of Labrador Retrievers.  
  
Harry was particularly unhappy in this heat, as he refused to take off his suffocating robe like many of the other students had. He didn't wish to sit there, practically naked, with Malfoy looking on. Instead, he sat hunched over his desk, sweat clinging to the back of his neck and dripping from his messy curls onto the collar of his robes, with his eyes glazed over in despondent misery.  
  
Considering this, Harry blamed all of his subsequent actions on the heat. Surely he wouldn't have otherwise found him self in an embarrassing altercation with Draco Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy, Harry noticed, didn't sweat. He glistened. Throughout the period, Harry stole glances at Malfoy's figure, perched regally in his seat in front of Harry, as though he was quite cool and comfortable. Only the light sheen on the back of his neck and his forearms betrayed his fevered state. Still, Harry decided that Malfoy was the only person he knew who could manage to make a hundred degree heat look like a refreshing occurrence.  
  
Harry had noticed a lot of things lately. He was never one to observe and analyze others' appearances, but he had made a particularly study of Malfoy of late. Like Harry, Malfoy had grown several inches in stature, and now stood an impressive 6 foot 2 inches. He'd finally stopped using a jar full of gel a day, and wispy white-blond hair fell softly about his ears. This change in grooming gave him a less jarring edge, Harry thought. If he still didn't maintain his trademark sneer all the time, he could have looked positively pleasant. But at least his toned and healthy physique made up for his strained countenance. Harry recognized in Malfoy's build the same lean, sinewy muscle that being a Seeker had given him.  
  
After assessing Malfoy's physical attributes, Harry decided that though simply looking at him didn't induce the instant hard-on that he reckoned being gay would, Draco Malfoy was a bit of a turn-on, nonetheless. Harry could at least understand why the girls seemed to giggle whenever the Head Boy was around.  
  
Head Boy. What an interesting title for Malfoy to hold. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he lived up to that distinction in. every way. Blushing furiously, Harry moved to hide his head in his hands.  
  
Incidentally, since Neville no longer took Potions, as he had no intention of seeking a NEWT in the subject, Harry had been promoted to class klutz, according to Snape. And today Harry unwittingly lived up to Snape's expectations, and then some.  
  
In one swift movement, Harry knocked his steaming cauldron on its side, effectively dousing the person seated in front of him in the mixture. Both to Harry's dismay and delight, that person happened to be Draco Malfoy. It was unfortunate that it was Malfoy, but deep down in his subconscious, Harry rejoiced at the potion's having a corrosive property, as it ate through the material of Draco's shirt and pants, leaving him shrieking, trying to cover up his very exposed assets and desperately attempting to stop the potion from eating through his skin at the same time.  
  
"Insolent boy!" Snape spat at Harry, as he jumped up from his desk and performed a quick "Evanesco" spell to remove the remains of the potion from Malfoy's porcelain skin. Malfoy, left standing with just his boxers and shoes and socks intact, spun around to face Harry.  
  
Harry simply stood aghast. He was torn evenly among embarrassment, fear, and arousal.  
  
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for your negligence, Potter," Snape snarled. "And you'll serve detention with me Friday evening. I think you'll find yourself better able to exercise control over your extreme stupidity in wasting ingredients once you've set to sorting and cataloguing all of them."  
  
Harry peered at his feet, willing himself to control his anger. Snape turned on his heel and headed back to his desk, dismissing the class with a cold 'You may go.'  
  
The parched and sweaty students filed out, though they all managed an amused glance at the bright red Harry Potter and half-naked Draco Malfoy before they left. Only after Harry had begrudgingly collected his books and materials and thrown them into his bag, did he notice that Malfoy stood fixed on the spot, crossing his arms about his chest and glaring at Harry.  
  
"Potter," he finally spat. "I certainly hope you're not so much a blithering idiot that you think you can simply get away with some lost points and a detention for this."  
  
Inwardly Harry's heartbeat quickened and he fancied himself fit to have a heart attack, but he put on a resolute face and forced himself to look at Malfoy. "Don't trouble yourself, Malfoy," Harry seethed, "I've also forgone any credit for today's assignment, which I'm sure pleases you greatly."  
  
"Quite," Malfoy smirked, "but that wasn't what I meant, and you know it."  
  
"Oh?" Harry questioned in mock-innocence, stealing a glimpse of Draco as he stood there, hip cocked to one side. Lingering on Malfoy's hips as long as he could without Malfoy taking notice, Harry noted how pronounced his hips bones were. His boxers clung gracefully to his pelvis, and Harry had to mentally will himself not to imagine Malfoy without them.  
  
"Retribution, Potter. I want to bring you to your knees and make you cry like a baby."  
  
Despite the fact that Malfoy's words brought several increasingly naughty scenarios to his head, Harry suppressed the urge to answer back with a sexual innuendo. "What else is new? This is kind of old hat for us, Malfoy."  
  
"That's no matter to me, Potter. You know what I want - a wizard's duel. Just you, me, and our wands."  
  
Somehow, as Harry peered at Malfoy standing there wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and a grin (a sadistic grin, no less), Harry couldn't help but find that statement laced with sex as well. He really needed to get his mind out of the gutter. Especially as he was currently peering at the slit at the front of Malfoy's shorts and was mentally visualizing what lay beneath it.  
  
"Now?" Harry questioned indignantly. Hadn't they done this whole "fight to the death/manly man conflict-resolution" thing before?  
  
"Very funny Potter," Draco sneered. "Certainly not, you daft prick."  
  
*Prick*. This was just too much - kneeling, crying, wands, and pricks. Harry was getting hard. Damn it. At least he still had his robes; they were really a quite functional piece of attire.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Alright. Give me your bloody robe, Potter."  
  
"What?" Harry's eyes flew open and he clutched at his robes protectively.  
  
"You heard me. Seeing as you've successfully done away with all my clothing, it's only fair that you provide me with suitable apparel with which to get back to my dorm. Now, have at it, Potter."  
  
"There is *no* way I'm going to give you any article of my clothing, Malfoy."  
  
"Oh yes you bloody well are, Potter!" Malfoy narrowed his eyes to slits and flipped his hair back.  
  
It was a no-win situation: to comply would mean covering up Malfoy's gloriously near-naked figure and revealing Harry's growing arousal.  
  
"Potter!" Snape's snarky tone cut through their silence and interrupted the staring match that had been going on between them. Harry looked up first, losing the undeclared game, causing Draco to smirk further.  
  
Snape stalked over to them. "Give Mr. Malfoy your robes."  
  
"What?" Harry protested. "You've got to be kidding me!"  
  
"Absolutely not, Mr. Potter. You'll assist Mr. Malfoy in clothing himself in any way that you can. I don't care if that means you have to be the one reduced to your underclothes. Serves you right for fumbling about when you should have been working."  
  
Draco smiled, proud of his conquest over Harry. In spite of his anger over the situation, Harry marveled how, even when reduced to nothing but his boxer shorts, Malfoy could still manage to be so resolute and self- confident. No one in just their underwear and socks should be that cocky.  
  
Speaking of which, Harry did not want to remove his robes, despite Snape's demand that he do so.  
  
"Well, Potter?" Draco put on a simpering grin. "Ready to take it all off?"  
  
"What? You. I, uh," Harry sputtered. "You don't seriously expect me to. strip, do you?"  
  
"Certainly not, Potter," Draco smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. Like anyone would want to see you naked."  
  
Had Draco not hurt Harry's pride, he would have returned with some bitter, witty comment, but at the moment Harry had none to offer. Instead, he reluctantly removed his cloak, casting daggers at Malfoy with his eyes.  
  
"That's better, Potter. Though I was hoping for a bit more of a show. You really are quite boring, aren't you?" Draco flung the cloak about his shoulders, collected his things, and headed for the door. Harry followed sluggishly, quite bitten by what had just transpired. Just as Draco was heading round the corner, Harry called out after him.  
  
"Tomorrow night, nine o'clock, in the empty room on the Charms corridor."  
  
"Excuse me, Potter?" Draco flipped around, eyebrows raised haughtily.  
  
"Our duel, Malfoy," Harry bantered, having recovered momentarily from his insecure repose. "You didn't specify a time. So, tomorrow, nine o'clock, Charms corridor."  
  
"You're on, Potter," Draco grinned devilishly, suddenly reminding Harry of their infamous duel in second year. Malfoy continued his journey into the dungeons, leaving Harry rather perturbed, but still pleased with himself.  
  
Yes, he'd meet Malfoy for a duel, but he had no intention of fighting. On the contrary, it seemed the perfect opportunity for a bit of snog-testing.  
  
**  
  
Harry sat on an abandoned desk that wobbled slightly under his weight. He took no notice of this, however, as he was far too nervous to gripe about a wonky desk. It was time to take the bull by the horns (metaphorically speaking) and figure this whole thing out once and for all. He would kiss Draco Malfoy and see what happened. Simple. And, of course, he would have a memory charm ready so the snarky bastard couldn't hold it against him.  
  
But Harry couldn't follow through on any of his plans if Malfoy didn't show up. And currently he was ten minutes late. As the minutes ticked by, Harry began to lose his resolve.  
  
You didn't just lock people in rooms and attack them with your lips, did you? There had to be better ways of figuring out you were gay. But if Harry's feelings were exclusive to Malfoy, then he would have to encounter him intimately eventually.  
  
Before Harry could analyze his theory any further, Malfoy sauntered in. And he looked very yummy, as far as Harry was concerned. If one's goal was to look cool at the onset of a duel, Malfoy had accomplished it. He wore a charcoal gray mock turtleneck that accentuated the sleek line of his sloping shoulders and a tailored pair of dark khakis. Over his shoulders lay a sort of half cape thing that Harry remembered seeing on Gilderoy Lockhart all those years ago. The olive green of the cape contrasted nicely with Malfoy's dewy skin tone. He looked positively debonair. And he looked sexy.  
  
Harry licked his lips, which had gone dry as he stood gaping at Malfoy. He mentally scolded himself for wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting jeans.  
  
"Pleased to see me, Potter?" Draco crooned. "Of course you are," he answered himself. "It's me."  
  
Harry frowned. "What is *that* supposed to mean, Malfoy?" To Malfoy, Harry sounded his normal, argumentative self, but to Harry's ears his words were tinged with a defense of Malfoy's assumption.  
  
"We all know I'm gorgeous, Potter. But on to more important things. Well, nothing's more important than I am, but still. Let's get on with it."  
  
"Fine," Harry answered as he jumped down from his perch and took a defensive stance across from Draco. They both withdrew their wands from their robes and eyed each other suspiciously.  
  
"Any rules?" Harry queried.  
  
"Only that there are no rules," Draco responded seriously.  
  
Harry nodded. His eyes suddenly focused upon the classroom door, which stood ajar. He moved swiftly past Draco and muttered a locking charm.  
  
"Locking the doors, are we?" Draco drawled snidely. "Don't want anyone to hear you scream? Oh, don't worry, Potter. I'll make you scream loud enough for everyone to hear."  
  
Somehow, everything derisive that Draco said leaned slightly to one side of either being snarky or kinky, depending on how one chose to take it. Either way, Harry knew he had to make a move. He certainly didn't wish to duel with Malfoy before kissing him, so getting to the snogging promptly was his main objective.  
  
He returned to his prior defensive position facing across from Malfoy. Before Harry could mutter a Stunning spell so he could have his way with Draco, Malfoy hit him with a Leg-Locking Charm that knocked the wind out of Harry and brought him to his knees. Draco snarled with satisfaction at Harry's quick loss. Harry performed a Finite Incantatum on himself and finally managed that Stunning spell, however, and a very unprepared Draco went soaring through the air and slammed against the wall with a dull thud.  
  
Stumbling as he rushed up from his kneeling position, Harry sprinted over to Malfoy and hoisted him up against the wall, locking his knees against Draco's and holding him in place by his shoulders. He muttered a quick 'Enervate' so that Draco was conscious once more.  
  
"You really shouldn't take the time to sneer between curses, Malfoy. It leaves you quite vulnerable," Harry muttered absentmindedly, his focus on the task at hand.  
  
Draco struggled under Harry's grip, but to no avail. Harry was surprisingly strong, so all Draco could manage was to shoot him evil looks. That and continue to run his mouth, spouting nasty comments at Harry.  
  
"Let go of me, you right prat! This is hardly playing fair! Ugh!" Realizing that Harry wasn't going to respond to this and finding himself rather disturbed by his silence, Draco resorted to his standard device: out right insults.  
  
"I told you I'd have you on your knees, Potter," he threw Harry a sly grin. "Though I'd imagine you're used to it. You and Weasel probably take turns."  
  
Harry's anger flared and he pushed Malfoy further against the wall.  
  
"Ow! Potter." Before Draco could finish, he found Harry's lips crushed against his own.  
  
Granted, Harry hadn't exactly been planning on such a violent, assaulting kiss, but with Malfoy he'd hardly have the chance at whispering sweet nothings and kissing him tenderly. So Harry settled for plundering Draco's mouth with his own, first limiting himself to a closed-mouth kiss, then demanding entrance to the other boy's mouth by prodding his lips with his tongue.  
  
"Mmmmnnnfff!" Draco protested somewhere deep in his throat, further struggling against Harry by batting his hands at Harry's sides and trying to step on his feet. Harry brought his hold down from Malfoy's shoulders and pinned him by the forearms to stop his assault on Harry's torso.  
  
Malfoy really shouldn't have struggled so greatly against Harry, as he only succeeded in eliciting a physical response from Harry's loins. Draco's eyes flew wide open in shock. He unwittingly opened his mouth to Harry's tongue as he muttered, "What the fuck?"  
  
Taking a page out of Ginny's book, Harry greedily explored Draco's mouth with his tongue. He tasted sweet, and Harry was sure he'd had a mint of some kind after dinner. The vapors from the candy chilled Harry's tongue slightly and he savored the feeling. He liked this - having his tongue in Draco's mouth. He liked it even more when Draco started kissing him back.  
  
In what seemed like a split-second, Draco ceased struggling and actually leaned into Harry's embrace. Though not exactly with matching fervor, Draco moved his mouth against Harry's in a tentative but accepting manor.  
  
Harry was flabbergasted. He hadn't expected Malfoy to kiss back; though mind you, he was perfectly fine with it. More than fine, in fact. He was blissfully happy.  
  
Going from simple mirth to ecstatic bliss as Malfoy stroked Harry's tongue with his own, Harry moaned involuntarily. Draco seemed to grin against Harry's mouth as he slid his tongue further into Harry's willing mouth.  
  
As Draco massaged Harry's tongue with his own, Harry's hands loosened their grip on Draco's arms. Keeping his touch light, Harry slid his right hand down to Draco's elbow as his left hand drifted over to his waist where it settled. His arms freed, Draco actually pulled Harry closer by pressing his left hand at the small of Harry's back. Harry gasped into Draco's mouth at the contact.  
  
At his gasp, both Harry and Draco realized how out of breath they were, and they broke apart, panting and glaring at each other. Harry was exasperated by the concept that Draco Malfoy had just given him the kiss of his life, and it showed in the wild glint in his eyes. Draco, on the other hand, looked terrified despite his compliance a moment earlier.  
  
Instinctively, Harry released his hold of Draco and jumped back. More awkward silence and panting followed. Should he say something? Was Malfoy going to say something? He looked as though he had the words just on the tip of his tongue, but the idea of where his tongue had recently been was keeping them choked at the back of his throat.  
  
"Potter?" Draco managed in a strangled gasp. His tone was far from his normal scathing, malicious one. He simply sounded absolutely confounded and somehow lost.  
  
"I." Harry stumbled. He didn't know what to say. All he could do was look frantically about the room - from Draco's confused eyes, to the walls, to his feet. The silence began to cave in on him. Sound became muffled as he closed his eyes and felt the whole world expanding around him, becoming too large for him to handle. He felt trapped, like he couldn't breathe.  
  
Stealing one more glance at Draco, into whose face a quiet rage seemed to be creeping, Harry grasped at his wand and did the only thing he could think of.  
  
"Obliviate," he muttered and dashed from the room, leaving one very confused Malfoy.  
  
End Chapter Three 


	5. I Dream of Harry

Chapter Four: I Dream of Harry  
  
**  
  
Harry was in a state of shock. Though he smiled and casually told Ron and Hermione that he was going to sleep as he passed through the Common Room, inside he was freaking out. His inner monologue consisted mostly of a running stream of obscenities.  
  
He had kissed Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy had kissed him back. As he peeled off his clothes and crept into bed, Harry tried to think of what he had been expecting. Amazingly, he hadn't thought beforehand how the kiss between them should go. Nonetheless, he wouldn't have imagined that Malfoy would have been such a willing participant in the act.  
  
Drawing the curtains around his bed, he recalled the way the scent of Draco's cologne mingled a hint of sweat and potion smoke had lingered around his lithe body. Harry closed his eyes and breathed in the air around him, hoping to catch a hint of that scent again. He fell back against his pillows in frustration when he couldn't find it. Gryffindor Tower was simply too drafty to allow Harry to recapture the spirit of the moment.  
  
As he crawled in between his sheets and drew up the covers, Harry wished he could taste Malfoy again. His essence was like a foreign delicacy to Harry's tongue, and he wanted more.  
  
A fleeting image of a naked Malfoy, laid out across the crimson sheets of Harry's bed, and all his for the tasting, danced across Harry's fancy He reckoned he ought not think of such things. Nothing like that kiss could ever happen again - he had seen the confusion and anger in Malfoy's gaze and was quite sure that he would have to remain the Forbidden Fruit to Harry's Eve.  
  
Harry drifted off into a dream-laden sleep state, and slept the night through for the first time in months.  
  
**  
  
Harry awoke the next day feeling refreshed, but couldn't seem to tear his thoughts away from his kiss with Malfoy. He sat distractedly through Transfiguration and Charms, though it was a combination of thinking about Malfoy while he sat only a few seats away from him in each subject that had Harry out of sorts. It also didn't help that he had Hermione writing notes to him, asking what had happened and if he was alright. He recounted only some of the details, not wishing to relive those moments while McGongall was lecturing on advanced Switching Spells.  
  
It didn't look like Malfoy remembered, he was being his normal sneering self, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling the blonde wanted to speak to him. After both subjects, Harry dashed from the classroom, narrowly avoiding the approaching Malfoy.  
  
That afternoon afforded Harry the luxury of forgetting his troubles at Quidditch practice. When Harry was flying through the air, the wind whipping through his robes and hair, he couldn't be bothered with worrying thoughts. Of course, it didn't stop him from recalling his masturbation- fantasy of a few weeks back. But masturbation-fantasy-Draco was an improvement on real-life-freaked-out-by-Harry-snoggage-Draco.  
  
By the end of the practice, Harry was feeling slightly calmed down and felt cooled by the slight sheen of sweat that had built up on his brow. He and Ron trailed behind the team on their way to the changing rooms, engrossed in lively conversation.  
  
"No way, Harry, the Starfish and Stick move is far more effective than the Double Eight Loop," Ron mused enthusiastically.  
  
"Ron," Harry grinned at his best friend, who had grown into quite the Keeper, "The Starfish and Stick is too dangerous and you usually end up concentrating more on not falling off your broom than blocking goals."  
  
Ron frowned, "Are you saying I can't do it?"  
  
"Hardly, Ron," Harry playfully nicked Ron's shoulder with his fist.  
  
"Alright, cause if you."  
  
Ron was cut off by Malfoy's sharp voice calling out, "Hey, Potter!"  
  
Harry froze in his tracks as Malfoy, in full Quidditch uniform, sauntered towards them. Damn green for being his color!  
  
"Funny I should run into you, Potter," Malfoy drawled.  
  
What did he want? Did he actually remember? Harry threw Ron a 'leave him to me' look and stepped forward to join in the confrontation. Ron went off into the changing room, though he looked like he wanted to stay and watch the altercation.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry tried to sound threatening rather than scared out of his wits.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Isn't it obvious?"  
  
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Shit.  
  
"You're a ruddy coward who doesn't feel his presence is necessary when he arranges a duel," Malfoy finished.  
  
Harry released the breath he had been holding. "Oh *that*," he answered.  
  
"Yes *that*, Potter," Malfoy spat, his lip curling slightly and his brow furrowing with anger. "What the bloody hell did you think I was talking about?"  
  
Harry responded by shrugging his shoulders, as he figured saying 'Well, I reckoned you might have remembered my backing you up against a wall and sticking my tongue down your throat' wasn't the best approach.  
  
"Listen, Potter," Malfoy continued, placing his hand on his cocked hip. Suddenly Harry wished he had some corrosive potion handy. "You're not backing out of this. No one stands Draco Malfoy up."  
  
Why did Harry feel like they were discussing a date?  
  
"Well, you're particularly daft today, aren't you Potter? What are you, mute?"  
  
"Hardly, Malfoy," Harry finally managed. He smiled, impressed at his own ability to sound as biting as Draco. "Just because I choose not to dignify your prattling with a response doesn't mean that I can't."  
  
"Whatever Potter," Malfoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "As much as the many ways in which you justify your stupidity amuses me, it's beside the point. Meet me tomorrow night, 11 o'clock, in the dungeons. And do please show up this time." Malfoy smirked one last time before pushing past Harry, knocking his shoulder deliberately as he went.  
  
**  
  
Draco Malfoy was a light sleeper. Such was the case with all Malfoys. After all, you couldn't be a fabulously wealthy and powerful family without collecting a few enemies over the years. And, particularly in the days of old, enemies had a knack for striking in the dead of the night. So, all Malfoys had developed an instinctive light sleeping pattern. It could come in quite handy to wake easily when some culprit fancied himself vengeful and took a knife to your throat.  
  
This Thursday night, the night of his and Harry Potter's second duel date, Draco Malfoy was particularly at ease. A slight smile graced his sleeping features at the pleasure of standing up Harry Potter. He wondered how long Potter had waited in the dungeons for him. But he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he fell into a peaceful, dream-filled sleep.  
  
However, even in sleep, Harry Potter seemed to infiltrate Draco's thoughts. As dawn approached, a slew of images danced across his subconscious, mostly of a very ill-dressed Potter dueling with him, Draco.  
  
He and Potter had their wands drawn. If Potter got himself out of those horrible jeans, he might have a nice figure. At least his dueling stance seemed to indicate that he had a set of muscles to rival Draco's own. Potter locked the door. Lucid-dreaming-Draco found this odd.  
  
"Locking the doors, are we? Don't want anyone to hear you scream? Oh, don't worry, Potter. I'll make you scream loud enough for everyone to hear."  
  
His voice sounded disjointed. Was he really saying that? Odd dream, really. He could feel himself smirking. Suddenly Blaise Zabini appeared, which Draco thought illogical, as Potter had clearly locked the door.  
  
"I really need to finish my bloody Transfiguration homework. That McGonagall is a real bat."  
  
What? Draco was confused. Dream-Harry just stood there and grimaced as it began to thunder outside the room. But as far as Draco could see, it wasn't raining.  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Crabbe!"  
  
Zabini again. Funny thing was, he had started to sing a tune Draco thought he recognized as one of the Weird Sisters'.  
  
"Wake up, Draco."  
  
His subconscious was speaking, but it was Harry Potter's mouth that was moving.  
  
"You really should wake up, Malfoy. It leaves you quite vulnerable."  
  
That was it, this was just too fucking weird. Draco forced his eyes open. He rolled over and grabbed one of his spare pillows, which he threw through his bed curtains and into those of the bed beside his.  
  
"You fucking woke me up, Zabini," Draco snarled. "And could you not wake up to the Wizards' Wireless? I hate those bloody songs in my dreams."  
  
A slightly disgruntled Draco threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. After smoothing his green silk pajamas, he sauntered over to Blaise's bed and violently jerked the curtains back. Blaise sat there, arms crossed, with a smug look upon his face.  
  
"It's not my bloody fault you're such a light sleeper, Malfoy. You don't see anyone else complaining," Blaise countered.  
  
"Well, if by 'anyone else' you mean Crabbe and Goyle," Draco snapped, "you can hardly expect them to wake. One sounds like a foghorn and the other is practically comatose."  
  
Blaise shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading his Transfiguration text book. Draco turned around and headed towards the bathroom to wash up.  
  
"And Blaise," he halted on his way and turned to ask the boy a question. Blaise looked up from his text thoughtfully. Draco continued, "Who the bloody hell were you talking to? About McGonagall and your homework. there's no else here."  
  
"Oh," Blaise smiled serenely, "that was just my split personality. You see, sometimes I'm a girl."  
  
Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He'd always known Zabini was an oddball, but. "Um, okay Blaise," he said soothingly as he backed toward the bathroom slowly. First dreaming of Harry Potter and now a psychotic roommate. Bloody Fantastic.  
  
**  
  
Draco loved Potions. Three times a week he was delightfully entertained by the sight of Professor Snape calling out the Gryffindors, Harry Potter in particular, and deducting from their house points. Occasionally he got really lucky and one of them got detention.  
  
This week Draco was especially proud of himself, as Potter had lost his house fifty points and gotten a detention on account of him. Sure, in order to achieve this, Draco had had to stand around Potions in his underwear, but he had a fabulous body and knew it, so it was no matter.  
  
In Friday's class, Draco was torn between glee over Potter's increasingly dark mood (Snape kept making references to his impending detention) and the irksome feeling related to his odd morning wake-up call. His dream with Potter had seemed so. familiar.  
  
Usually when he experienced lucid dreams, he could control things - change people about whom he didn't want to dream, tweak dream-Draco's speech, and affect the outcome of the dream however he wished. He had torn himself away from many a nightmare by willing his dream-self to triumph over obstacles. But in this case, he seemed outside of himself in the dream. Try as he did, both his and Potter's lines were quite fixed. And, had he had his way, he would have killed Potter or something and woken up happy and refreshed.  
  
It didn't make things easier that Draco could practically feel Potter staring at him. He was probably miffed about Draco's skipping on their duel date. And obviously, Potter didn't like being stood up, because he just wouldn't let up. Ogling girls was one thing, but having Potter concentrate on him was unnerving.  
  
Draco spun around to face his admirer, sure to check that Snape wasn't looking first. "What do you want, Potter?" Draco was pleased to see that Potter looked positively terrified.  
  
"Nothing, Malfoy," he answered, though Draco thought his tone lacked the usual malice that traded between them.  
  
"Then stop bloody staring at me, Scarhead," Draco snarled. "I can feel your eyes on the back of my neck, and it's fucking annoying."  
  
Potter seemed to comply, because Draco worked the rest of the class without the sensation that he was being watched.  
  
Later that evening, as Draco was headed towards the Slytherin common room after a random tryst with some Ravenclaw girl, he came across Potter serving his detention in the Potions room. Draco smiled to himself. If Potter was so insistent on staring at him during class, then he would stare at him too. And reveling in Potter's detention would be a lovely secondary pleasure.  
  
Draco sauntered into the classroom and noted Snape's absence. He took a seat behind the professor's desk and fixed his gaze upon Harry. Minutes ticked by before Harry glanced up and realized that he had company.  
  
"Malfoy!" he gasped indignantly, "what are you doing here?"  
  
Shrugging and grinning slyly, Draco responded, "Felt the need to catch up on a bit of reading." He held up a random book from Snape's desk.  
  
"You're kidding me, right?" Potter questioned and Draco dismissed the idea that he was shaking. Happy, heroic Harry didn't shake, surely.  
  
"No," Draco responded nonchalantly, "Professor Snape is always happy to lend me the use of his private library."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and flipped around, his body language indicating that he was rather put off by Malfoy's presence. Good, Malfoy thought, this would be fun.  
  
Draco continued to stare at Harry for the next thirty minutes, watching as he pulled various vials off the shelves, examined their contents, and sorted and labeled them. His dark-haired prey was visibly tense and his cautious movements betrayed his knowledge that he was being watched.  
  
During his optical assault of Potter, Draco couldn't help but observe how much his enemy had changed over the years. Where he was once a gangly, messy looking thing, he was now gracefully tall - Draco guessed he was around six foot - and the hair that had once been an untidy mess, now looked like a casually tousled mop of curls. Much to his disgust, Draco could actually understand what all the girls saw in Potter. He truly looked the dashing hero.  
  
Finally reaching the end of his tether, Harry spun around and seethed at Draco, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Why, Potter," Draco simpered, "whatever do you mean?"  
  
"You know precisely what I mean," Harry retorted. "Stop staring at me like. like. just stop it!"  
  
"Fine, Potter," Draco rose from the desk and stalked over to him. "But I'd advise you not to glare at me in class. If you have a problem with me, come out and say it."  
  
Harry didn't speak.  
  
Draco snorted lightly. "Where is that Gryffindor courage everyone goes on about? Seems you're just a right coward. The answer to your question, Potter, is that I couldn't be bothered showing up. You're simply not worth my time."  
  
He turned on his heel and sauntered out of the room, but had he looked back, he would have seen the skeptical look on Harry's face.  
  
**  
  
"We all know I'm gorgeous, Potter. But on to more important things. Well, nothing's more important than I am, but still. Let's get on with it."  
  
Draco's voice echoed in his dream. He and Potter were in the same room as they had been the night before.  
  
"Fine." Dream-Harry answered him. Draco felt himself raise his wand. Potter did the same.  
  
He and Potter glared at each other. Harry's eyes shone unusually bright in front of him. Draco couldn't help but stare the jade eyes shining out from Potter's glasses. They really were crap glasses, Draco mused. Almost as bad as his hair. And that outfit. And that outfit. what were the odds of Potter wearing the same pathetic ensemble in two consecutive dreams?  
  
"Any rules?" Harry queried.  
  
"Only that there are no rules," dream-Draco responded.  
  
Was his brain sending him a message? Maybe he should have shown up for that duel, after all. From the looks of things, he was ready to kick Potter's ass. Wait. What was Potter doing? He locked the door, then Draco heard himself speak.  
  
"Locking the doors, are we? Don't want anyone to hear you scream? Oh, don't worry, Potter. I'll make you scream loud enough for everyone to hear."  
  
Talk about Deja' vu. Draco distinctly remembered saying that last night in his dream. What was this - some sort of recurring nightmare?  
  
They faced off again. Dream-Draco hit Harry with a Leg-Locker Curse, much to his delight. Potter folded in no time, and fell to his knees. Draco smirked. Served the bastard right, considering he and his bloody goons had used the same hex on him on the Hogwarts Express fourth year.  
  
Draco heard Potter whisper something under his breath, just as he was slammed against a wall. Everything went black.  
  
End Chapter Four 


	6. Sex on Legs

Chapter Five: Sex on Legs  
  
Draco woke with a start, jerked from sleep by the distinct sensation of falling. What the fuck was that? Draco couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been in that place before, that it wasn't just a dream. Of course, that notion was ridiculous, since he'd surely remember getting into a duel like that with Potter.  
  
Bloody Potter. What was that he'd hit him with? Draco's whole body ached, like he'd actually been slammed against a wall. At least it was Saturday, so he didn't have worry about attending any classes. He got up and took a nice long shower, easing his sore joints.  
  
"Bloody dreams," he muttered against his hand as he leaned against the shower wall. If he kept having these recurring nightmares, he'd end up crippled.  
  
**  
  
But he kept having them. Every night for the next week, in fact. It was always the same: he was in a room with Potter (who always locked the door) and they were dueling. Sometimes he'd only experience the first part, where they faced off and he jabbed at Potter about the door. Other times he got further into the dream, but always woke up when he was hit with that curse. By Wednesday night, he moved past that part, though all he got after that was the faint sound of an "Enervate' and a few lines of banter tossed between him and Potter. He was beginning to really hate this dream, because aside from waking up very sore in the morning, he hated the feeling of helplessness that they gave him.  
  
Potter always ended up pinning him against a wall. Dream-Draco would always struggle, but to no avail. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday morning, Draco woke up tangled in his sheets, fisting at an invisible assailant.  
  
Saturday evening, however, the dream took an interesting turn.  
  
**  
  
"I told you I'd have you on your knees, Potter. Though I'd imagine you're used to it. You and Weasel probably take turns."  
  
Draco turned in his sleep, quite pleased that, even in his dreams, he managed to be witty. This was the farthest he'd ever gotten in this dream, and was wondering when the part would come when he beat Potter's sorry arse and won the duel.  
  
But that part never came. Instead, Draco felt his heart jump up in his chest and his entire body tensed as he felt Potter's lips on his. Jesus bloody Christ! Potter was fucking snogging him!  
  
It was beyond uncomfortable, and Draco tossed and turned in his sheets whilst mentally willing himself to affect the outcome in a different way. His struggle was in vain, as he had come to realize over the past week that this was not a lucid dream. Because Draco Malfoy would *never* voluntarily dream of Harry Potter kissing him.  
  
Especially if it was going to be this awful. Potter's lips against him felt strangely chaffing and dream-Draco responded by hitting at Potter's sides with his fists and trying to step on his feet. Potter was too strong, however, and seemed to anticipate Draco's every move. He pinned Draco down more firmly than before, ignoring the muffled groans of protest emanating from Draco's throat.  
  
Taking a moment to cease his struggle, Draco discovered something hard pressing against his thigh. Potter was getting hard. Harry Potter was kissing Draco Malfoy and getting an erection.  
  
"What the fuck?" Draco tried to speak, but his lapse in concentration led to his mouth opening and Potter took this opportunity to slip his tongue in Draco's mouth.  
  
As he couldn't exactly stop what was happening, Draco took a moment to focus on the sensation. Potter wasn't quite skilled when it came to French kissing, but he made up for it in sheer determination.  
  
Oh, for the love of God. Draco figured if he was going to stand here (dream or not) and be kissed against his will by Harry Potter, he might as well make the most of it. Harry was doing it all wrong in terms of hands and whatnot. And he'd show the bloody hero how a *real man* kissed.  
  
Draco relaxed against Harry and began to move his mouth in time with his, whereas before he'd just been standing there with his jaw locked and mouth agape. Slowly but surely, Draco pushed his tongue into Potter's mouth, indicating that he was taking over.  
  
Unlike any dream Draco had ever had before, in this dream he was aware of all the sensory details. And as he slid his tongue in and out of Harry Potter's mouth, Draco swore he could taste him. Apparently Potter was fond of oatmeal biscuits, because Draco found the taste of his dessert on the roof of Harry's mouth.  
  
A moan escaped from Harry's throat, and Draco grinned against his mouth. That's right, Potter - you're my bitch.  
  
Potter relaxed his hands and moved them to a more comfortable position (finally, Draco thought), resting one hand on his elbow and the other on Draco's waist. Draco responded by putting his left hand at the small of Harry's back, pulling him closer. Harry gasped.  
  
Draco woke up.  
  
**  
  
Draco sat bolt upright in his bed and cringed as he felt a slight stab of stiff pain. He looked down, and discovered that he was hard. He'd just been dreaming about sticking his tongue down Harry Potter's throat, about pulling him so close he could feel Potter's erection against his thigh - and he was really turned on.  
  
"Well, shite," Draco rolled his eyes and threw back the covers in annoyance. He glanced at his bedside clock which read 'If you're reading this, then you are up WAY too early.' He reckoned he was the only one up, but he cast a silencing charm around his bed anyway.  
  
"Might as well take care of the bloody thing," he muttered bitterly. "But I won't think of Scarhead!" he tried to reassure himself.  
  
Draco peered down at his naked form. He was such an Adonis. why waste this beautiful body on someone as daft as Potter? Draco scoffed as he tentatively touched himself. He was a tease, even with himself.  
  
After five minutes of winding himself up and down, thinking of nothing in particular, Draco started getting rough. He liked it rough - just like he liked his Quidditch. Mmmmmnnnn. he really wished they had some females on the Slytherin Quidditch team. That way he'd get a treat in the showers after practice.  
  
Needless to say, those Gryffindor girls were fine specimens. He'd even go as far to say that he preferred them to Slytherin girls. Their naïveté made them sexy.  
  
Draco imagined himself watching them change, all sweaty from a long, hard practice. Noble, brave, sexy Gryffindors. Of course, he hadn't only seen the female Gryffindors in the changing rooms. An image of a gleaming, sweaty Harry Potter crossed his mind. His body reacted before his mind could, and he bucked his hips violently into his hand.  
  
A series of moans, groans, and expletives left his pink lips and his hormone addled mind took over. Fuck it - Harry Potter was gorgeous and it was getting him all hot.  
  
Draco expertly handled himself as he let Harry Potter take over his senses. If only he could get Potter into some decent clothes, he could be quite the vision. Hell, if he could only get Potter *out* of those clothes he'd be quite the vision. Draco dwelled on the feel of Harry's erection pressing against his thigh in his dream. Thank God it was the kind of dream you didn't forget, because Draco didn't wish to forget the way Potter's tongue in his mouth had made him feel.  
  
He saw Potter down on his knees again, only this time he wasn't muttering curses at Draco or jumping back up to knock him against a wall. In this vision, a willing Harry took Draco in his mouth. Mmmmmnnn. he was so much better at that then French kissing.  
  
"God, Potter!" Draco shrieked as he came all over his hand, stomach, and sheets. He collapsed on his pillows, panting. Okay, *that* was an interesting experience.  
  
"Well, I guess I'm bi," Draco muttered between breaths. Years of being instructed by his father that no sex, with either gender, was outside a Malfoy's sphere, had left Draco very comfortable with the idea of his sexuality. So, his first time thinking about a man in a sexual way didn't bother him at all.  
  
"But, Potter?" he spat, wiping his soiled hand on his bed sheets in disgust. "Jesus Christ."  
  
**  
  
Draco had received the 'sex talk' from his father when he was nine. A tender young age, yes, but as his father put it 'Malfoys start early.'  
  
Like his father had before him, Lucius ran through the necessary information.  
  
"Firstly, Draco, Malfoys are sex on legs. We are a gift to the world, and it is our unspoken duty to bestow the pleasure of our company on as many people as possible," he had intimated in a fatherly tone.  
  
Draco had simply stared at his father in awe as he went through his diatribe. Sexual pleasure was sexual pleasure, he had learned, no matter the source. In fact, in some cases, relations with a man were preferable to those with a woman.  
  
"Men are generally more adept at the art and skill of fellacio," Lucius dictated. Draco screwed up his face in childish abhorrence, to which his father had responded by slapping him on the hand with his cane and scolding, "Now, now Draco. We'll have none of that. Nothing is beyond a Malfoy where sex is concerned."  
  
At the time, Draco hadn't understood what his father meant when he discussed blow jobs, but now, in hindsight, Draco wondered if he was right. After all, he had experienced plenty of sloppy, horrible blow jobs from girls (Pansy Parkinson nearly turned him off them altogether), it stood to reason that there was better out there.  
  
So, Draco had absolutely no issue with shagging men, but up to this point it hadn't really crossed his mind. Why on earth was Potter, of all people, the one to spark his interest?  
  
Thinking back on all their encounters with each other throughout school, Draco found himself recounting their infamous duel in second year. He couldn't help but dwell fondly on the image of Potter speaking Parseltongue. He seemed quite. dexterous, he thought. Oh the things he could do with that tongue.  
  
But this was Potter! Harry fucking 'Champion of good hearts and heroic deeds' Potter. He was a nuisance, the thorn in Draco's side. And he was making cameos in Draco's dreams that left him waking up with a raging hard on. Shit.  
  
And where did all of this start, anyway? They were enemies - because of Voldemort? No - Voldemort was just some hypocritical half-wit with psychotic delusions of grandeur. Draco was too gifted in the area of logic not to notice the fallacy in following a Muggle-born in a quest to rid the world of non-Purebloods. He obviously had a lot of issues with himself, and Draco didn't see why he should bow before someone who was clearly off his rocker. He may have believed himself superior to non-Purebloods, but that didn't mean that he was keen to follow someone as unstable as Voldemort.  
  
For Christ's sake, the man had been taken out by a one year old. A toddler had more magical power than he did. Not just any toddler - Harry Potter. Harry bloody 'I'm too good for your friendship' Potter. Oh, yes, Draco was still bitter about that.  
  
The day he'd met Harry Potter for the first time was still clear in his mind. He'd been in Madame Malkin's, and was being fitted for his Hogwarts robes when a wisp of a boy walked in. He was kind of scraggily looking, wearing a plain colored tee-shirt that fell down to his knees and was riddled with moth holes and a baggy pair of jeans. His hair was an absolute mess, like he'd slept on the floor or something.  
  
Draco had thought he looked positively Muggle, but there was something about him that he'd liked. Despite his disheveled appearance, this boy looked nice -like someone with whom Draco could be friends. He saw in this boy a chance to have an equal at Hogwarts. As long as he wasn't sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, they'd get along brilliantly.  
  
Nervousness shone in his green eyes, hidden behind a crap pair of glasses, but those eyes also betrayed a hint of power. Draco liked this boy, so he spoke to him as an equal.  
  
How the bloody hell was he supposed to know that every topic he chose to talk about would inadvertently insult the boy?  
  
He'd tried discussing Quidditch, and the boy just stood there and answered in monotones. It didn't faze him. Then that oaf Hagrid had showed up at the window, and Draco had thought - what a lovely conversation piece! He didn't know who the man was at the time, but how could you pass up the chance to discuss a twelve-foot tall man standing outside a shop window? The boy intimated that the man was named Hagrid and worked at Hogwarts. Now Draco knew who he was, his father had told him about it.  
  
So, Draco did what many a precocious eleven year old would - he gossiped a bit, sharing his knowledge with the boy, looking for a talking point. Then he'd said that he 'thought Hagrid was brilliant,' and though Draco was taken back by this statement, he simply moved on.  
  
He'd asked about the boy's parents. They were dead. Oh. Draco didn't sound sorry or anything, his parents didn't mean much of anything to him, so how could he empathize with someone else with regard to theirs? Ah, at least the boy's parents were Wizards. He was right; despite his appearance, this boy was a Pureblood. Excellent.  
  
Before Draco could catch his name, however, the boy was ushered out of the shop. But it was no matter, as Draco found out soon enough exactly who the boy was. Who knew: Harry bloody Potter. *That* slip of a boy, who'd barely said a word, save an odd line defending that Hagrid fellow, was hero of the Wizard world. This was the boy of whom his father had always spoke - the 'insolent boy' who had brought down the Dark Lord. Of course, he had no extraordinary powers, no. That blasted Dumbledore or his uppity parents had cast some sort of Charm against the Dark Lord, and the child just got in the way. Toddlers don't defeat powerful dark wizards.  
  
As an eleven year old, Draco believed everything his father told him. So, here was Harry Potter, just another boy, someone for Draco to befriend. He'd be quite the ally to have, Draco thought. But Harry bloody Potter had refused his friendship. He thought he was too *good* for Draco Malfoy. Hence their natural enmity had begun.  
  
Draco's father was pleased, of course. He saw Draco's antagonizing of Potter as a move in favor of his support of the Dark Lord. Draco had never told his father that he'd tried to befriend Potter. That his disliking him had absolutely nothing to do with Voldemort. If anything, Draco had grown to respect him for what he'd done to the Dark Lord. For, as he aged and stopped taking everything his father said as truth, Draco began to think that Harry Potter had done something extraordinary that night, and he alone. He was not mistaken when he saw that glint of power in Harry's eyes. Harry Potter had skills that rivaled Draco's own, though Harry was versed in Light magic and Draco's forte was in the Dark Arts.  
  
Though Draco respected Harry Potter, he still hated him. But, Christ - did one normally get turned on by the person they hated?  
  
It might not be normal, but there certainly must be an explanation. Draco spent that Sunday brooding over the rational solution to his dilemma.  
  
He'd never liked blokes before, so there must be something special about his relationship with Harry Potter. They say that hate breeds attraction. or is it proximity breeds attraction? Whatever. He hated Potter, but he fancied him as well. Draco was sure there was a formula to it or something.  
  
Admittedly, Potter was in sporting form, but that wasn't what Draco fancied about him. Draco was enthralled by Harry Potter's glittering, green eyes. He always had been, though he would never admit it to himself. Potter's eyes told so much - of his power, of his emotions, and of his character. Draco had been inexplicably drawn to Potter that day in Madame Malkins.  
  
At the same time, though, Potter still irked the hell out of Draco. He was presumptuous, high-handed, and stubborn. But Draco reckoned he liked those elements of Potter too: he was a challenge. He was the enemy. And, much like the girls who liked Draco because he was the 'bad boy,' Draco found Potter sexy (he couldn't believe he admitted that he found Potter *sexy*) because he wasn't supposed to. He recognized the thrill he derived from his run-ins with Potter. Their relationship as enemies was dangerous, and he liked it that way.  
  
End Chapter Five 


	7. Deja Vu

Chapter Six: Deja' Vu  
  
Professor Snape enjoyed springing surprise quizzes on his students, particularly when he was well aware that they didn't know the material very well.  
  
"Today you will all be preparing a Gewichts Potion," Snape smiled dryly, "without the aid of your notes." The class groaned in unison. "As almost none of you managed to prepare the potion successfully the other week, your efforts in today's class will count towards twenty-five percent of your final grade. So let's hope you all can manage something slightly above abysmal."  
  
Draco grinned to himself. This would be a piece of cake. Not only was he brilliant at Potions, but he also had a mind like a steel trap. And you don't exactly forget the potion that eats through all your clothing and leaves you standing half-naked in front of your peers.  
  
Draco was doubly pleased with his choice of seating today. He'd decided on a desk just behind Potter's normal seat, though he couldn't quite admit to himself that this was to have better access to watching Potter. Nonetheless, it would now prove handy, as Draco could casually have a little accident with his Gewichts Potion. It was time for Potter to find himself in nothing but his boxer shorts.  
  
As the students set to work and condensation began to fill the room, Draco took the time to observe Potter, whose hair soon began to hang in damp tendrils about his face and neck. If Draco didn't have such a hair fetish, he'd have dismissed Harry's disheveled locks as a pathetic mess, but his interest led him to closer study of Potter's hair. It looked. soft and touchable, well as much as damp curls could be. And though he was sure that Potter was too daft to use a moisturizing conditioning treatment once a week, somehow Potter still managed to keep it in good condition.  
  
He wanted to touch it, to run his hands through Potter's locks and make him shiver. He wanted to weave his fingers through it and hold on for dear life as Potter sucked him dry. He wanted to catch a whiff of the fresh woodsy scent that reminded Draco of Gryffindor Tower as he licked and nibbled on his neck. The possibilities were endless.  
  
He watched as Harry absentmindedly pushed a chunk of his hair back with the tip of his wand. In the process, he upset his glasses and they settled at a wonky angle. Why did Potter insist on wearing those ugly things? Surely by this point he (or that annoying Muggleborn Granger) knew a spell that would correct his vision. Hell, if the Muggles could come up with a way (something using laysurs?), he was sure Wizards could do one better. Anyhow, it would be nice to have an unobstructed view of Potter's eyes.  
  
Well, at that point, Draco was quite keen to get an unobstructed view of several less visible portions of Potter's anatomy. He wished he'd take his robes off. At least then he could follow the trail of dewy hair down Potter's neckline and catch a glimpse of his slender slanting shoulders. All he needed was Potter topless, as his three favorite features of his were above the waist.  
  
Draco continued his study of Harry Potter as the minutes wore away. The class became increasingly warm again as the potions neared completion and Draco squirmed slightly in his seat, adjusting to the pressure of his growing erection. Damn it - why did Potter have to get so sweaty? It reminded him of things that got you sweaty - Quidditch, dueling, rampant wild sex - Draco's three favorite activities.  
  
Five minutes before the conclusion of class, Draco separated a sample of his potion into a stopper for grading. This would be fun. With a swift movement of his hands, Draco 'accidentally' knocked his cauldron over and its contents poured over Harry Potter.  
  
"Whoops!" Draco exclaimed nonchalantly, weakly concealing his pleasure as Harry jumped from his seat and wiggled around in shock and frustration. He was so frazzled that he didn't think to grab at his wand to stop the eating away of his robes. Hmmm. lovely. Potter's clothes melted away quite nicely.  
  
Professor Snape, though he rolled his eyes in annoyance, didn't make a move to rid Potter of the effects of the potion. Despite his pleasure, Draco decided it was a bad idea to allow *all* of Harry's assets to become visible to the class, so he performed an Evanesco before the concoction could leave him without the protection of his boxer shorts. Which, Draco noticed, were green. The color matched nicely with his dark hair and eyes. He reckoned Potter would go even better with Draco's green satin sheets.  
  
"God, Potter. Yuck. Too much information," Draco grinned slyly, indicating Potter's poor state of dress and hoping his disdain was convincing. "I always knew you had a thing for Slytherin, but *really*."  
  
Harry blushed and tried to cover himself up. Draco didn't mind; it drew more attention to his upper arms and torso.  
  
Snickers of amusement echoed throughout the dank room and several of the young women made a serious effort to crane their necks in Harry's direction as they put away their ingredients. They very bloody well had better have looked at him like that, Draco thought. He was just as desirable as Potter, if not more so. But there was always that bloody 'The Boy Who Lived' crap. He was a revered hero, so therefore he was *so* sexy!  
  
Bints wouldn't even look twice at him if it weren't for his hero status. He was nothing more than a nerd - a scruffy, piddling, nervous wreck - who also happened to be inexplicably sexy.  
  
Suddenly, Draco hated all those simpering twits. They had no idea who Harry Potter really was. But Draco knew: Harry Potter was a rogue in disguise. There was darkness in him, and Draco was determined to seek it out, and to conquer him. He was attracted to the conquest, to the challenge. And this was his first move.  
  
Harry had now turned a brilliant shade of red. He kept scanning the room desperately, looking for something with which to cover himself. Draco also noted that Harry avoided his gaze like the plague.  
  
After several minutes, class ended and Harry looked torn between fleeing the room and streaking through the hallways and standing there in front of his worst enemy and most hated Professor. He chose the latter.  
  
"Malfoy! How could you. I." Harry stuttered.  
  
"Get out of my classroom, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled, speaking for the first time since Draco spilt his potion. "I do not wish to endure your indecency any longer." He motioned with his wand towards the door, obviously expecting Harry to file out, in spite of his current state.  
  
Harry stared agape and Snape and the door. He refused to budge.  
  
"Give me your robes, Malfoy," he finally managed.  
  
"Excuse me?" Draco responded indignantly. "I have no intention of joining in your little orgy, Potter."  
  
"Orgy!" Harry exclaimed incredulously, "You spilled your bloody potion all over me!"  
  
"An accident," Draco shrugged his shoulders and smiled innocently.  
  
"Accident my arse," Harry retorted.  
  
"Hmm, yes. Your arse," Draco mused, "not very attractive, is it?"  
  
Harry started silently and moved towards Draco, gripping his robe and yanking. "Give it here, Malfoy!"  
  
"No," Draco responded curtly. "I'll do no such thing."  
  
He was enjoying this. Not only did he get to see Potter very exposed, but he was working himself up into an absolute tizzy. Mission accomplished.  
  
Harry nearly ripped Draco's robes as he gave another tug. Draco could see the anger and desperation in his eyes. Potter obviously did not relish being half-naked. Pity, really.  
  
"Wow, *Harry*," Draco stressed his name, "I had no idea you were so keen to undress me."  
  
Harry colored even deeper, it that was possible.  
  
With a toss of his hand, Draco relinquished and pulled off his robes. "If you want them so much, Potter," Draco tossed them to Harry. "Here you go. Now don't go doing anything naughty with them, I'd like them returned to me *spot free*."  
  
Harry's mouth flapped wordlessly and he simply nodded. Draco could have sworn he saw the beginnings of a hard-on as Harry threw the robes over his head, but he doubted it. Boy Wonder was too much of a prude to get his rocks off on this. He'd probably never even heard of blokes snogging each other, so Draco reckoned his witty sexual innuendo was lost on him.  
  
Like Potter would wank off with Draco's robes, anyway. He probably thought of fluffy bunnies and sunshine and daffodils when he did it. *If* he did it at all. Potter seemed pretty sexually inept in general, so it wouldn't surprise Draco in the least if he had no bloody clue.  
  
Draco sniggered and sauntered out the room. He lost sight of Potter as he rounded the corner, but he was sure Potter remained a bright shade of red for at least the next few hours. Bloody brilliant.  
  
**  
  
As much as Draco loved Quidditch, he wasn't exactly keen on the state of the showers. Sure, they were great for watching other people shower, but he himself wouldn't stoop to. communal bathing. Therefore, he was quite glad to have the Prefects Bathroom at his disposal. Being a Prefect may involve a bit more goody-two-shoes behavior than he would have liked, but the bathroom was the perk that made it all worthwhile.  
  
That afternoon, drenched in sweat (though Draco insisted that he 'glistened') and still high from the delightful spectacle in Potions, Draco made his way to the prefects' bathroom, intent upon a long, hot bath.  
  
When he arrived, a murky mist of steam hung in the room and Draco immediately felt the need to remove his robes. He moved to the far right corner and began to remove the components of his uniform. Only after he had removed all his clothes save his trousers, did he notice that he wasn't alone. At least he didn't think he was - cause who would leave an ugly pair of glasses lying about?  
  
Ugly glasses. Shit - Potter.  
  
Draco crept towards the edge of the pool, careful to stay covered in steam and shadows. Yep, there was Potter, lounging in a mass of bright green foam. He must have been underwater when Draco came in, because he'd given no notice of company. And now he had no clue, as Draco was very quiet and Potter was sitting there with his eyes closed.  
  
Equally as quiet, Draco returned to his clothing and pondered how quickly he could get dressed without drawing attention to himself. Then he went from bewilderment to anger - what the fuck was Potter doing in his bathroom? He wasn't a Prefect; that was for damn sure. Bet the bloody weasel gave him the password. Bastard. Well, why should he leave if this was his bathroom? Potter should be the one to go.  
  
Resolved, Draco turned back to Potter and prepared to stalk over, but then he was struck by the image of a very naked Harry Potter lounging in a cloud of green. Or he could stay here and observe. After all, Potter was quite fetching in green. Draco smirked - he knew the bastard always had a secret Slytherin fetish.  
  
Draco found a perch in the darkest corner of the room and sat watching Harry Potter. He had a rather nice view, as he was positioned slightly above the bath and could look down on the relaxed figure. He was doubly as pleased when time and heat began to eat away at the foam, and the green shroud surrounding Harry's intimate parts dissipated.  
  
Well, well, well Potter! Apparently your hero complex isn't overcompensating for. other things. You'd think that with shrinkage the picture would be a little less complimentary. Harry slipped his hand under the water.  
  
That explains it. Come hell or high water, Potter was hard despite the heat. Draco observed as Harry began to do something Draco had never thought he would. Guess the Boy Wonder does wank off, Draco thought. Though he doesn't seem to be very good at it. He's so. tame. I wonder what he's thinking about.  
  
"Mmmmmnnnn, Malfoy."  
  
Excuse me? Did he just say.  
  
"Oh, yeah - like that Draco!"  
  
Well, I'll be damned - Boy Wonder's gay. And he has a thing for me. Fucking, poetically, beautiful. Hmmm, apparently just thinking about me improves Potter's sexual technique. He's doing much better now. Yes, I am a sex God. Draco grinned to himself.  
  
Harry threw his head back against the edge of the tub and began stroking himself. His eyes were screwed shut and his tongue was poking out of his mouth whilst he panted in a steady rhythm.  
  
"Fuck me, Malfoy!" Harry gasped.  
  
Fuck him? Did Potter even know how that worked? Draco couldn't dwell on it long, as hearing the words 'fuck me Malfoy' made him instantly hard. He cursed silently as he strained painfully against his Quidditch trousers. They were really made of the wrong material for erections.  
  
Potter should really hurry up. If he didn't stop soon, Draco would be forced to discard his pants and set to work on himself, right then and there. Although, it was rather comforting that he seemed to have more stamina than the average teenage male. At least if he ever wanted to fuck around with Potter, he'd be guaranteed a good time, without inconvenient duration problems. That was one nice thing about girls - it took a lot longer to wind them up, and by the time they were ready, so was Draco.  
  
His impatient prayers were answered, and Harry finished. Draco hoped the tub had a drain. And that the house elf who cleaned it used some strong disinfectant.  
  
As Draco watched Harry go limp, panting, he realized that he himself was short of breath. He certainly had never imagined that kind of show would ever take place. This was Harry fucking Potter, for Christ's sake. Like he would ever wank off screaming his name. But, unless he was hallucinating (not possible - Malfoys had 'solid constitutions'), that was precisely what he had just seen.  
  
Harry brought himself out of his exhausted repose and glanced around warily. Shit - did he know he was there? Harry broke out into a goofy grin and closed his eyes again. Perhaps not.  
  
Harry hugged his upper torso and began to lightly trail his fingertips along his damp skin. He visibly shivered and Draco couldn't help but shiver himself.  
  
After a few minutes, Harry Potter and his amazing torso climbed out of the bathtub. Well, Draco thought, now was as good a time as any to snog the hell out of Potter. Especially as he was still delightfully unclothed, except for the towel that he had draped loosely about his hips.  
  
Draco leapt down from his seat with the agility of a cat stalking its prey. As his feet hit the marble floor, Harry was alerted to his presence for the first time since Draco's arrival.  
  
"Malfoy!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "What the fuck are you."  
  
Draco cut him off with his lips. He placed one hand on Harry's hip, and the other at the small of his back, and worked his fingers at the hem of the towel. Harry found himself simultaneously naked and on the receiving end of Draco's demanding tongue.  
  
End Chapter Six 


	8. Give and Take

Chapter Seven: Give and Take  
  
A/N: Mexx wanted a blow job so badly, but the best I could give her at this point was a hand job. I hope she enjoys it!  
  
The Buffy-esque quote in here somewhere is from the first episode, Welcome to the Hellmouth.  
  
And I have shameless mooched the 'giving and taking' concept from Lycoris. She is a Goddess.  
  
**  
  
For the first minute of the kiss, Harry struggled against Malfoy for the sole reason that this was *Malfoy*, and he was sure the boy was only fucking with his head. However, as Harry realized that the same boy had purposely disposed of his towel and was quite enthusiastically grinding his hips against his, he relaxed. He might as well enjoy it while it lasted.  
  
Harry's hips met Malfoy's thrust for thrust, and Malfoy grinned against Harry's lips. He broke from their frantic kissing to smirk into Harry's eyes and lick his mouth. Harry opened his mouth in shock. He immediately fell back into a dazed silence when he felt Malfoy take Harry into his right hand.  
  
Malfoy pressed his lips against Harry's mouth as he began moving his hand in an up and down motion. Instinctively, Harry moaned and grabbed Malfoy to pull him closer.  
  
Before he knew it, though, Malfoy had pulled away from him, and was standing three feet away with his hands on his hips. He glared at Harry.  
  
"Jesus fucking Christ, Potter!" Draco seethed. "We've fucking done this before, haven't we, you prat. I've *heard* that moan, and it wasn't in any wet dream."  
  
For a moment, Harry was confused. Of course he'd heard him moan like that - the little perverted voyeur had obviously observed Harry's little wank- fest. What was Malfoy playing at?  
  
"What are you going on about, Malfoy? You're the one who just sexually molested me, I'd hardly call that a dream."  
  
"No, you bloody twit," Draco stamped his foot, "I'm talking about kissing you in the Charms classroom. I *knew* something was fucking weird when I suddenly found myself there alone. Didn't show up, ha!" he scoffed. "What did you fucking do to me, Potter?"  
  
"I.. I," Harry hesitated, "I didn't do anything, Malfoy. There's obviously something wrong with you; you're hallucinating."  
  
"Oh, yes," Malfoy sneered, "I'm just imagining you screaming my name as you wank off not to mention the fact that you're standing here, naked, standing at attention. *I'm* delusional."  
  
Harry didn't say anything, he simply peered down at his very exposed figure and searched for his towel. Where the hell had it got to? Ah, hell - Harry resorted to simply covering (rather poorly) his engorged flesh with his hands.  
  
"I'm bloody warning you, Potter," Malfoy continued, "if you don't tell me what the hell you did to give me nightmares for two fucking weeks, I'll Avada Kedavra your arse right here and now."  
  
Draco tapped his foot impatiently and glared at Harry. Harry wondered how the hell Draco could possibly remember, among other things. Well, the jig was up, so he might as well come clean. It's not like it could get any worse; after all, Malfoy had just witnessed him masturbating whilst shouting his name.  
  
"I used a memory charm," Harry mumbled, refusing to look Malfoy in the eyes. "And, why, might I ask, did you feel the need to use a fucking Memory Charm on me?" Draco demanded.  
  
"I didn't want you to have something else to use against me."  
  
"And what, pray tell, would that something else be? I'm still not exactly clear on the details," Draco shifted his weight as he rubbed his temples, grimacing. "You're rubbish at Memory Charms, Potter. I feel like someone inserted a teaspoon into my ear and swirled it about in my brain."  
  
"I kissed you," Harry offered, quickly.  
  
"You kissed me? Why the fuck would you do that?" Malfoy screwed up his face indignantly and dropped his fists to his side. "I fucking hate you!"  
  
"I know! It's just that I, I. I wanted to. Okay? Just forget about it," Harry rambled, wishing this conversation would end right now.  
  
"That's a little bloody hard, Potter, as I did a crap job at forgetting it the first time," Malfoy sneered. He stepped back a foot and shook his head, obviously thinking something over. "And here I was, thinking I had the hots for you. No, it was just my fucking subconscious memory wheedling its way back into my brain. The bloody nerve of you, Potter! You. violated me!"  
  
"Oh, please, Malfoy!" Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy was such a drama queen. "You make it sound like I raped you or something."  
  
"Pretty damn close, Potter. You performed a dangerous Memory Charm that could have caused permanent damage."  
  
For a moment, Malfoy's ranting reminded Harry of Hermione, but he didn't think brining up that point would help Draco's mood any.  
  
Draco continued his rant, "It's sick. Where are your fucking ethics, Potter?"  
  
"You want to talk ethics?" Harry spat incredulously. "Whose father supports Lord bloody Voldemort?"  
  
"I am not my fucking father, Potter. Contrary to what you seem to think," he laughed half-heartedly. "Though, if you had it your way, you'd use my body and then fuck my mind over on a regular basis. You're sick, Potter. Really, truly sick."  
  
"Me!?!?! You're the fucking voyeur! Invading my privacy and then having the gall to attack me with a hand job."  
  
"Oh, you wanted it, Potter. You know you do," Draco drawled, knowing he had power over Harry.  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said through clenched teeth.  
  
"Hit a nerve, did I?" A sly grin flicked across Malfoy's face. "Ickle-hero- Potter fancies *boys*. Fancies me." He looked very pleased with himself.  
  
"I do *not* fancy you, Malfoy."  
  
"Yes, and you normally scream the name of people you don't fancy when you come." Draco knew he had him.  
  
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Harry directed.  
  
"Fine," he grinned saucily and came at Harry again, this time going for Harry's body first and his mouth second.  
  
Oh dear God. Why did he have to be so good at that? Harry panted into Draco's mouth, the increasing stimulation of arguing and physical contact giving Harry a slight high feeling. Draco had amazing coordination, and paid equally fervent attention to both Harry's mouth and to his form.  
  
Draco worked his hand up and down Harry's length as he jetted his tongue in and out of his mouth. Harry grabbed Draco's arse and pulled him closer. He gasped in protest when Malfoy tore his mouth away, but was again sated when he put it back to work nibbling and sucking his neck and shoulders.  
  
Harry screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back, the swirl of anger and passion over taking his senses.  
  
"God, you're such a desperate little wanker, Potter," Malfoy mumbled against the crook of Harry's neck.  
  
"Ugh!" Harry cried out as he pulled away from Malfoy, the moment lost. He stared aghast at Malfoy, whose expression was half sneering and half asking Potter why he'd ruined their fun.  
  
"Wait a second," Harry panted as he struggled to catch his breath, "why are we bloody talking about *me* when you obviously fancy me as well."  
  
"Please, Potter, don't flatter yourself."  
  
"No!" Harry continued, stomping his foot and grabbing for a towel. "You said that you thought you fancied me, but it was just your memory. And you clearly have no objection to wanking me off, so I'd say you're the one with the issue."  
  
"No, no, no, Potter," Malfoy contradicted. "I only got my rocks off on you because your bloody memory kept popping up in my head. This is clearly one- sided infatuation."  
  
"One-sided? You just admitted that you wanked over me," Harry stated in annoyance. Malfoy had a tendency to ignore logic when it wasn't in his favor. "And it's not like anyone was forcing you to enjoy the memory. You could have just as easily freaked out and gone crazy or something. But if you recall, you did kiss me back."  
  
"Well you weren't doing very well, were you? I had to show you how a real man kisses. And even if I did kiss back, why the fuck did you feel the need to use a memory charm?"  
  
"I panicked." Harry blushed and looked anywhere but at Draco.  
  
"This is the boy who's supposed to save us all? The wizarding world is doomed," Malfoy muttered sarcastically.  
  
"Oh, like you care Malfoy," Harry retorted hotly. "If I lose, your precious Voldemort will kill all of Mugglekind, which I'm sure will please you greatly."  
  
"Jesus Christ Potter, you can be a real prejudiced arsehole sometimes, you know that? You assume that just because I'm in Slytherin that I'm hell bent on taking over the world and killing all the Muggles? You're a fucking idiot if you think that."  
  
"No, Malfoy, I think that because it's true," Harry returned hotly. "You're practically the poster child for Voldemort's war. You spout racial slurs every other word - you've certainly never hesitated to call Hermione 'Mudblood' and wish her dead - you go on about the superiority of blood, and you're father's a fucking Death Eater! And, what? I'm just jumping to conclusions?"  
  
"For your fucking information, Potter, I do NOT follow the Dark Lord. Just because my father drools after the delusional psycho, doesn't mean that I do. I happen to believe in the superiority of blood, thank you. And I call Granger a Mudblood because it's too fucking funny to see the three of you get all out of sorts. Weasel turns ridiculously red, Granger looks torn between rage and tears, and you look like you want to fuck me seven ways to Sunday. What can I say," Draco grinned, "I'm easily amused."  
  
"What?!?!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide, "I do NOT look like I want to fuck you, Malfoy. If that's what you think 'I want to kill your sorry arse' looks like, no wonder you're so hot to trot. You must think the entire school wants to fuck you."  
  
"They do."  
  
"Get over yourself, Malfoy."  
  
"What? They do - I've shagged half of them, I should know."  
  
"What?!?!"  
  
"Don't look so shocked, Potter. Everyone wants a piece of me, even you. And who am I to deny anyone the pleasure of my company?"  
  
Harry stared at him, wide eyed. What was he implying, exactly?  
  
"I never thought I'd say this, but please do put your glasses back on. You look like a deer caught in headlights. It's very unbecoming."  
  
Harry blinked and scowled. "Bastard."  
  
"Excellent comeback. Very witty," Draco broke into a grin. "So, how do you want it? Here, my place, yours - from the front, from the back - hard, soft? I'm very open and *very* flexible."  
  
Harry's mouth dropped. "You can't possibly mean." he trailed off. "Ugh! Malfoy, you're such a pervert!"  
  
"What? You don't want to fuck me? That wasn't the impression I got earlier." Draco screwed up his features in mock-ecstasy and began to moan, "Oh, Draco. like *that* Draco. Fuck me, Draco!" He sniggered. "You're gagging for it Potter," Draco paused, considering his word choice. "You know, I could arrange that, too. I'm a lot to take, so gagging would probably be involved."  
  
Harry swallowed hard and scolded himself as he noticed his sweaty palms, quickened breath, and responding body. He tried to cover up his arousal with a biting comment. "Oh, please, Malfoy. Like *that* would happen. I would never be your bitch. You'd be the one gagging."  
  
Jesus Christ, had he just said that?  
  
Malfoy looked equally surprised. "Well, well, well - naughty Potter. But I don't think so. I would never take it; I only give. And like you could ever *really* play like that. You don't have the balls."  
  
"Oh yes I bloody well do!"  
  
"Prove it."  
  
"Fine, I will!" Harry took the initiative and lunged at Draco, sealing their mouths in a kiss so searing it took his own breath away.  
  
Malfoy tasted of sweat and candy, like he'd been sucking on some sweets earlier. He must enjoy sucking on things, Harry thought idly.  
  
Pushing the imagery of Malfoy sucking things out of his head, Harry increased his fervor and allowed his hands to wander Malfoy's lithe frame. Malfoy responded in kind, first cupping his hands on Harry's arse and then grasping in turn, eliciting a moan from Harry. The towel draped round Harry's waist slipped again, and fell to the floor.  
  
Why was he always the naked one? He decided to even out the playing field and divest Malfoy of his form-fitting Quidditch trousers. The coarse fabric irritated his fingertips as he searched for the button and fly; doing this from the opposite direction was very odd. Well, at least Malfoy had already removed his shin-guards, there was an obstacle gone.  
  
He could already feel Malfoy pressing through the rough material and Malfoy sighed against Harry's jawline as he undid the zipper, his warm breath dancing across the Gryffindor's skin and tickling his earlobe.  
  
Funny that Malfoy's breath (and mouth) could be so hot, Harry mused as he rubbed his nose against the soft blond hair and pushed his trousers off his hips. He'd always seemed such a cold creature. But just as his breath was against Harry's ear and his tongue had been in his mouth, Harry found warmth wherever his fingertips ventured. Currently, Harry was more than aware that Draco was a hot-blooded creature.  
  
Harry couldn't help but grin at Draco's audacity - he wasn't wearing any underwear.  
  
"Gosh, Malfoy," Harry nipped at the other boy's earlobe; curled his fingers around the other boy's erection and squeezed a little harder than necessary, "do you usually go commando, or only during Quidditch games?"  
  
Draco gasped at both the break in silence and the sensation of Harry's rough grasp.  
  
"Fuck you, Potter."  
  
"Hmmm," Harry murmured as he began experimenting with touching Malfoy. This really wasn't as complicated as he had thought. It was just reverse masturbation - he just had to run everything in the opposite direction. Malfoy was apparently pleased, as he began to buck his hips against Harry's hand in earnest.  
  
Harry couldn't help but grin. "I don't know, Malfoy," he mused, slowing down the rhythm a bit, "the other week you were clearly wearing boxers underneath your robes."  
  
Draco dug his fingernails into Harry's backside in protest at his slowing down and bit at Harry's shoulder.  
  
Harry jumped a bit as Malfoy's sharp teeth came into contact with his flesh, but regained his composure quickly. Instead of scolding the blond, he continued his lazy pace and teasingly ran his thumb over the tip of Malfoy's erection.  
  
"It just seems very impractical to forgo underclothes in those trousers. I imagine there would be some chafing involved," Harry continued, pleased at Malfoy's growing frustration.  
  
"Fuck Potter!" Malfoy's head whipped up and he straightened his posture. He glared at Harry, "Stop giving me cheek and get on with it, damn it!"  
  
"I can hardly help it, Malfoy," Harry retorted, "you're such a lamb when I've got my hand on your dick - it's too easy to play around with you."  
  
"Sadistic bastard," Draco gasped and pushed Harry back until his knees hit the edge of the bathtub. Back in the position of control, Draco straddled Harry's hips and kissed him roughly.  
  
"Mmmmnnn," Harry muttered against his lips. Malfoy broke the kiss and began touching Harry again, ignoring his own wanting body.  
  
"I like it when you play rough with me, Malfoy," Harry simpered.  
  
"Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed, looking him in the eyes again. "A few fucking kisses and my hand around your dick and you turn into a kinky bastard. What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
"What can I say?" Harry mused. He leaned forward and grabbed Malfoy's earlobe between his teeth and pulled gently. "You bring out the worst in me," he whispered huskily into Draco's ear.  
  
He twisted their bodies around so Malfoy was on his back on the marble edge of the tub. He reversed the straddling position so he sat perched on top of Malfoy.  
  
Suddenly Harry was glad for the Joy of Gay Sex book Hermione had dug up. The look of shock in Malfoy's eyes was priceless. Bet he didn't think Harry knew about any of this.  
  
Harry leaned forward and ran his tongue from Draco's belly button up to his collarbone. He peered up at Malfoy as he did this, pleased at the arousal dancing in Draco's eyes, thinly veiled by anger. Protest as he did, Malfoy liked this. And Harry loved the control.  
  
Once he had licked his way up to the other boy's jaw, he began to rock his hips against Draco's, stimulating friction between their inflamed bodies. Draco flung his head back and gasped. God, that was erotic. Harry lapped his tongue against Draco's pulse point as he increased his rhythm.  
  
Pretty soon, Draco was meeting him with each thrust of his hips. Harry captured his mouth in a fevered kiss, their tongues dueling for control.  
  
Moving from Draco's mouth to caress his jawline, Harry couldn't help but pant into Malfoy's ear, "For someone who vehemently declares himself a giver, you take it awfully well, Malfoy."  
  
"Ugh!" Malfoy cried out, as he pushed Harry off him. The force of his action sent Harry rolling off Draco and into the tub with a splash.  
  
Harry emerged a moment later, sputtering with his eyes wide in shock and frustration.  
  
"I don't fucking think so, Potter," Draco spat, as he leapt up and grabbed for his clothes.  
  
"What? Malfoy - where the fuck do you think you're going?" Harry protested, and rose from the water. Draco pulled his shirt over his head and hastily managed to get his trousers about half-way on.  
  
"You're greatly mistaken if you think I'm going to be your bitch, Potter," Draco slipped his right foot into his boot. "So just fuck off, will you?" he managed the other foot.  
  
Harry just stood there in the water, his mouth hanging open. He didn't have to say anything to ask Draco besides the question 'what the fuck am I supposed to do?'  
  
"Oh - go wank off, Potter!" Malfoy spat as he neared the door, his arms full of his excess Quidditch wear. "You seem particularly skilled in that area, after all," he finished before climbing through the portrait hole.  
  
End Chapter Seven 


	9. Harry Potter & the IceHot Ice Lolly

Chapter Eight: Harry Potter and the Ice-hot Ice Lolly  
  
He hated him - *hated* him! Draco stalked down the corridor, hastily trying to do up the zipper of his trousers. However, he kept meeting with the resistance of his being continually erect.  
  
Who the fuck did Potter think he was? Using Draco like a sex toy - please. Draco scoffed to no one.  
  
But he liked it.  
  
Don't be ridiculous; Malfoys were nobody's sex toy. They were in charge, king of the castle.  
  
Damn it. Why wouldn't the thing go down? Shit - now he'd have to wank. Die Potter die!  
  
**  
  
The next day, Draco sat unusually erect in Transfiguration. Normally he liked this class (even if that twit McGonagall was the professor), but today he couldn't focus. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. Damn it, if Potter.  
  
Draco whipped around, sneering. Granger. Granger was watching him. What was her problem?  
  
Fine. If Granger was going to stare at him, he'd do her one better.  
  
"Granger," Draco called after her as they filed out of class. She turned and peered at him curiously. Draco was suddenly glad that she always stayed after class to prattle on with McGonagall, sending Boy Wonder and the Weasel ahead.  
  
"What do *you* want, Malfoy?" she responded coldly.  
  
"What I *want*, Granger," Draco sneered sarcastically, cornering Hermione in an alcove outside the classroom, "is for you and your cheer gang to take a trip into the fiery pits of doom," he paused for dramatic effect. "But as *that's* unlikely to happen, I'd like to know why the fuck you were making such a study of me in class."  
  
"I wasn't making a study of you, Malfoy," she bit back.  
  
"I'm neither blind nor stupid, Granger. You were staring at me with your beady little Mudblood eyes, and now I feel quite dirty."  
  
Hermione scoffed and gave him an appraising look.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," Hermione looked away. She seemed to be suppressing a smile.  
  
"Don't 'nothing' me!" Draco shrieked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He paused a moment. "Jesus fucking Christ," he started angrily. "He told you. He bloody told you!"  
  
Hermione simply arched her eyebrows and smirked.  
  
"Fucking brilliant!" Draco threw his hands up in exasperation. "So, what? What did he tell you?"  
  
She played innocent and shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"Shit," Draco spat and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He was starting to sweat. (glisten!)  
  
"Well, I'll have you know, Granger, that Potter started it." He nodded vehemently, as if trying to convince himself. "Your little fairy friend is the one who shoved his hand down my trousers and humped me by the bathtub. I had no part in it."  
  
"That's not what he told me," she finally spoke. "From what I understand, you were quite the eager little vixen."  
  
"What?!?!"  
  
"Hmm," she continued, unfazed by his astounded reaction, "he said, and I quote, that it was 'bloody unbelievable.'"  
  
Malfoy thought he would have a heart attack.  
  
"Listen, Malfoy," Hermione tried to sound soothing, "there's nothing wrong with being gay..."  
  
"I'm not gay!" he cut her off, his eyes flashing. "I'm.... I'm..." he struggled to find the term, "demented! Potter pulled a fancy memory trick on me and skewed all my fucking priorities. He's evil - pure unadulterated evil!"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're being a bit dramatic. Harry isn't evil; he's just... a bit confused, " she finished delicately. "He's never had these kinds of feelings for a bloke - "  
  
"And you think I have?" Draco seethed. "He... hoodwinked me!"  
  
"Please, Malfoy!" Hermione countered, hands on her hips. "You can't *hoodwink* someone into being gay. You clearly had these feelings for Harry before, and his actions triggered your dormant sexual attraction towards him."  
  
"Excuse me, Granger, but I most certainly did not have... dormant sexual feelings for *Potter*."  
  
"Oh, lay off your righteous indignant act and calm down for a minute," she ordered him. He started at her gaul, but she indicated by a hand gesture that he would suffer a harsh penalty for interrupting her.  
  
"Do please channel the human being I suspect is in there, " she pointed at his chest, "and listen to me. You need to talk to Harry - sans groping. You two clearly have issues that won't be sorted out through angry banter and reciprocal fondling."  
  
"Reciprocal!" he squawked.  
  
"You gave him a hand job!" she cried shrilly.  
  
"Well," he pouted, "it's not like I finished or anything. It doesn't count if they don't come."  
  
"I admire your twisted logic. Face it, Malfoy. You and Harry are involved in some big, sexual... thing," she finished.  
  
"How articulate, Granger."  
  
"Shove off, Malfoy."  
  
"Blow me, Granger!"  
  
"Oooh!" Her eyes lit up suddenly. "Harry could!"  
  
She couldn't be serious.  
  
"I should mention it to him..." she trailed off, clearly making a mental note.  
  
She was serious.  
  
"You're kidding me," he asked rhetorically.  
  
"Nope," she answered. "It's a lovely and effective way to mend bridges. And," she smirked, "every man is negotiable when he's having his dick sucked."  
  
"Ugh, Granger!" Draco drew back in repugnance, his face scrunched up in disgust. "Never, ever utter those words... EVER. That is so wrong coming from you. It'll take weeks to expunge those disgusting images from my head."  
  
She chuckled and he scowled at her. "Well, there's an obvious solution for that." She paused. "Picture Harry doing it instead."  
  
She winked at him and pushed past him to make her way down the hall.  
  
The nerve of her, saying those... shit. Potter sucking him off. Shit, shit, shit. He'd have to wank again.  
  
**  
  
Harry paced back and forth across the small space at the foot of his bed. Hermione sat on his bed, her feet settled on his trunk, as she peered at him expectantly.  
  
How could she. suggest that? What was she thinking?  
  
"Are you mad, Hermione?"  
  
"No, Harry," she answered seriously, "I think it's a really good idea."  
  
"A good idea to. to." he hesitated.  
  
"Blow Draco Malfoy?" Hermione offered, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes.  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't even understand why you're so on board with this. You hate Malfoy."  
  
"Yes, but you fancy him. You're my best friend, Harry, I'll support you no matter what."  
  
"It would help me a lot more if you'd simply tell me that I'm crazy and keep me away from him."  
  
"Well," she smirked, "I also find it a tad bit amusing. You and Malfoy, shagging in the loo."  
  
"We weren't shagging!"  
  
"But you could."  
  
Harry chose to ignore this stem of conversation and move on. "Where did this come from, anyway? Yesterday you said I shouldn't worry about Malfoy and today you're suggesting I. I."  
  
"You're an adult, Harry, you can say it."  
  
"Fine! That I give Draco Malfoy a blow job," he threw his hands up in resignation. "Why would you suggest such a thing?"  
  
"Well, when I talked to him earlier, he gave me the idea that - "  
  
Harry interrupted her with a shriek. "What!?!?!?"  
  
"It was no big deal, Harry." She shrugged him off. "But about you and Malfoy. frankly I find it rather hot."  
  
"Hot? Excuse me?"  
  
"Well, two attractive guys making out - every girl's fantasy."  
  
"Oh, God." Harry could feel himself turning a shade of puce.  
  
"Oh, grow up, Harry!" Hermione rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. "You blokes get to fantasize about two women getting together, why shouldn't we women have a little fun?"  
  
"You think that Malfoy and me would be fun? Hermione, that's gross!"  
  
"Not if you do it right."  
  
"Right? I didn't know you could do it wrong!" Harry found that he had to lean against the wall for support; his palms were clammy with sweat.  
  
Well, you could use teeth - that would be wrong."  
  
"TEETH?!?!?!"  
  
"Oh, Harry, do you know nothing about blow jobs?"  
  
"I haven't exactly *had* to before, Hermione!"  
  
"You mean Cho didn't."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Wow. We have a lot of catching up to do, then."  
  
"Catching up? What are we catching up on?"  
  
"You need to know how to give Draco Malfoy a blow job. Which is a problem, because it seems you also need to know how to get one."  
  
"Hermione."  
  
"Don't worry, I don't intend to. demonstrate or anything. Ron would get terribly jealous. He's quite enthusiastic about them, you know."  
  
"No, I wouldn't know, we haven't discussed it."  
  
"Are you sure you're a normal boy?" She peered at him skeptically.  
  
"Yes, I'm normal! I just don't discuss how one of my best friends gets blow jobs from another. That would just be. pervy."  
  
"Well, we're about to break the fourth wall anyway, so let's go for it."  
  
"The fourth wall?"  
  
"Don't ask. Anyway - for starters: no teeth. Ever. Well, that's not true. It can be an erotic addition to the act, but if you're not gentle it can be very unpleasant."  
  
"Uh." Harry simply nodded.  
  
Hermione tilted her head, assessing him. "Harry, why don't you sit down. It might make this easier."  
  
He sat beside her on the bed.  
  
"Where to go from here? There's so much information you should know." Hermione racked her brains. "Okay: for starters you'll want to wrap your hand around the base of the shaft. Then you use your tongue and mouth in various ways, all to simulate sexual intercourse. The key is alternating between applying pressure with your hand and your mouth. Harry! Sit back down!" Hermione pointed emphatically at the mattress and Harry took his seat once more.  
  
"Hermione," Harry lamented, "I do have a... a... one of those; I know what feels nice."  
  
"Quite." She smirked and continued her diatribe. "Honestly, Harry, the rest depends on the individual. Some men like it when you play with their testicles, while others get a kick off deep-throating. But never do anything you're not comfortable with. Mind you, Ron and I have done about everything and - "  
  
"Hermione, stop!"  
  
"Right," she nodded, "maybe you should be practising. You can only take in so much. information."  
  
"Practice? Practice on what?" He looked around frantically.  
  
"On this!" Hermione smiled and gave her wand a quick flick, muttering a spell under her breath. An ice lolly appeared with a pop and she handed it to him. "I wasn't sure of Malfoy's exact, um, measurements, but an ice lolly's a good starter. We can graduate to cucumbers when you're ready."  
  
"Cucumbers? Even Malfoy's not that big, Hermione!"  
  
"Really?" she looked vaguely disappointed. "I had heard rumors, but it's no matter."  
  
"What kind of rumors?"  
  
"Oh, you know - that he's got a bit of a tripod."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're such a gossip, Hermione. Anyway, he's big, just not *that* big."  
  
Hermione smirked, "So he's *big*, is he? Could you give me an idea in inches?"  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
"What? Just cause I'm a book worm by day doesn't mean I don't enjoy the finer things by night. A girl can be curious, can't she?"  
  
"Not about the boy I'm supposed to shag!"  
  
"We're talking about blow jobs, Harry, not shagging. Though I'm delighted that you've got that in mind."  
  
"You don't get to watch, Hermione."  
  
She pouted. "You're no fun. Anyhow, the ice lolly's going to melt if you don't get started."  
  
Harry let out a great sigh and tentatively pressed his lips to the tip of the ice lolly. It was orange, his favourite flavour. The surface of the ice lolly was frosted with ice and Harry's lips stuck to it. He wet his tongue and ran it from the base of the ice lolly to the tip, once on each side.  
  
Harry looked up. at Hermione was gaping at him with wide eyes.  
  
"What?" he questioned innocently.  
  
"That was. hot, Harry."  
  
"Hot? I really don't think you're allowed to think that I'm hot."  
  
"I don't, Harry. I think that you doing that to an ice lolly is hot. There's a difference."  
  
"Hmmpf," he muttered in protest, though he turned back to his lolly without another word.  
  
Harry slowly but surely worked his mouth over the lolly, slowly sucking just the tip at first and then working his way further down towards the base. It wasn't at all as difficult as Harry had thought it would be, as this was how he normally consumed his ice lollies. Well, when the Dursleys ever actually gave him any.  
  
Hmmm. deep throating. Harry wondered how much of the ice lolly he could take into his mouth without choking. It was quite cold, which stood to impede his progress, but Harry reckoned he could give it a shot. He inched his mouth closer to the bottom of the lolly, releasing the back of his throat to take more in. This wasn't so bad.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione leaned over and began thumping on Harry's back, trying to stop him from choking. "That would be your gag reflex." She smiled at him. "But you're really not all that bad. It's pretty impressive for your first try."  
  
"This is so mortifying," Harry choked, slumping over and hiding his face in his hands.  
  
"It could be worse," Hermione cajoled, "Malfoy could have told everyone that you wanked him off."  
  
"Hermione!" Harry's head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at her. "You're not helping!"  
  
"Sorry," she shrugged and hopped off the bed. "Well, I have to study, and it would do you well to as well."  
  
"I know, Herm, we have an exam in Transfiguration next week."  
  
"I wasn't referring to that, Harry. I think you should practise on more ice lollies," she threw him an impish grin and scampered out the door.  
  
End Chapter Eight 


	10. They Fancy Malfoy, Don't They?

Chapter Nine: They Fancy Malfoy, Don't They?  
  
A few minutes after Hermione left, Ron appeared at the door, looking at Harry questioningly.  
  
"Harry," he started, "can we talk?"  
  
"Oh, Ron - of course."  
  
Ron smiled shyly and sat next to Harry on the bed. "Harry, mate, I feel like I never see you anymore. And what's with all this secretive talking with Hermione? Harry," Ron asked seriously, "does she want to break up with me?"  
  
"Oh, no Ron! That's not it at all. Don't worry about Hermione - she loves you. We've been talking about a problem I have."  
  
"One you couldn't talk to me about?" Ron looked disappointed and slightly betrayed.  
  
"It's just. not the kind of thing I thought I could talk to you about."  
  
"What could there possibly be that you couldn't talk to me about?" Ron practically whimpered.  
  
"It's just -" Harry paused and thought about how to put it, " it was about sex, and I really needed to talk to a girl."  
  
"What about sex could you not ask me?"  
  
Harry swallowed hard. "It was about boys."  
  
"Of course it was about boys, Harry!" Ron laughed at him. "We are boys. And I could have told you about being with Hermione just as easily as she could have told you about being with me."  
  
"You don't understand, Ron. I didn't want to talk about being a boy, I wanted to talk about being with a boy."  
  
"What? Oh. OH." Realization hit Ron and he took a moment to think about the impact of Harry's words. "Well, you still could have spoken to me." He shrugged. "You know perfectly well that I'm no angel - or prude."  
  
Suddenly it dawned on Harry. How could he have been so stupid, forgetting?  
  
"Ron?" Harry asked, peering nervously over the rim of his glasses. Ron nodded for him to go on. "You know your. fetish?"  
  
"Uh, yeah," Ron answered awkwardly, wishing he hadn't let his dildo fascination slip to Harry.  
  
"Have you.?" Harry trailed off, only half sure what he was asking.  
  
Ron looked down at his hands and grinned sheepishly, "I, uh... yeah."  
  
"Really? Wow. Um, what was it like?"  
  
"It's different, you know, but kind of erotic."  
  
"Erotic? What did Hermione think?" Harry tried prompting Ron with a Hermione reference, to see if they were talking about the same thing.  
  
"Hermione? Well, we haven't actually gone that far. I used them. Personally."  
  
"Oh," Harry paused. "Have you ever thought that you might be... gay?"  
  
"Yeah, once or twice."  
  
"Do you think you are?"  
  
"Maybe sometimes. I love Hermione, but I could do that too. Sometimes, that is."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Harry," Ron looked worried for a moment, "You don't want to.?"  
  
"With you? No!"  
  
"Well, thanks!" Ron pouted and looked put off.  
  
"I didn't mean it like that, Ron," Harry threw him a sympathetic look. "It's just. that I like someone else."  
  
"Really? Who?"  
  
"I don't think I want to tell you." Harry looked away from Ron.  
  
"Come on, Harry - I'm your best friend!" Ron pleaded with him.  
  
"Yes, but I don't think you'll be at all happy about it."  
  
"How bad could it be? As long as it's not Neville or Malfoy."  
  
Harry averted his eyes.  
  
"You like Neville! Harry, he's not even gay! Of all the Gryffindor boys, you have to pick the one who isn't - "  
  
"Ron." Harry cut him off. "Calm down. I don't like Neville like that."  
  
"Thank God! But who." Ron trailed off. After a moment's thought, he narrowed his eyes and glared at him. "*Harry*."  
  
Harry shifted nervously and peered at his bed curtains. After a moment, he stole a glance at Ron, who was staring at him fixedly with his eyes narrowed.  
  
"Fine!" Harry screeched "Malfoy, I like Malfoy!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in defeat.  
  
"Malfoy?" Ron questioned, though he had been half expecting the answer. "You've got to be kidding me! Harry, he's an evil sodding git!"  
  
"I know! It's just - I can't help it!"  
  
Ron didn't even break stride. "I mean, sure, he's sexy, but also EVIL!"  
  
Harry gaped at his best friend. "You think he's sexy?"  
  
"I'm not blind, Harry. Even Hermione thinks so."  
  
Silence fell between them.  
  
Harry figured he'd found a good explanation for his fancying Malfoy - everyone seemed to.  
  
"Harry?" Ron practically whispered. "Have you. done anything with him?"  
  
"No!" Harry exclaimed instinctively. "Well, yes." Harry peered at his feet. "I've kissed him."  
  
"Kissed him?"  
  
"And gave him a hand job."  
  
"You gave Draco Malfoy a hand job? Are you mad?"  
  
"No, I - well, maybe. I was just so confused. I thought I might be gay. Then I thought I might fancy Malfoy. Or the other way around, I don't know. And Hermione suggested that I kiss him, so I did and it was wonderful and horrible all at the same time, but he looked so freaked out and I panicked and did a memory charm, but then he remembered and attacked me in the bathroom and before I knew it I was naked and he had his hands on me, but then we fought and I was so angry, so I took his pants off and just. went at it. As revenge."  
  
"You gave Malfoy a hand job as revenge?"  
  
"Well, it's not like he. you know! He ran out before I could - finish him off."  
  
"Oh yeah - then it doesn't count!" Ron bantered sarcastically and rolled his eyes. "Harry, what were you thinking? That's a rather dramatic way to figure out if you're gay."  
  
"I didn't know what else to do and Hermione -"  
  
"- Thought she would play matchmaker and set you up with Malfoy? Alright - she's mad. Everyone around me is mad!"  
  
Harry threw Ron a scathing look.  
  
"Alright," he conceded, "I'm done. But why Malfoy, Harry? You could have come to Seamus or Dean, or me, even."  
  
"You? You would have helped me?"  
  
"Hell yes, Harry! Anything would have been better than your wanking Draco Malfoy."  
  
"Ron!"  
  
"Sorry, mate, but that is just wrong. And I thought you said that the point was to kiss him and find out if you're gay. I could have helped you out with that."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess," Ron shrugged. "I've only ever snogged Hermione, might as well try it with a boy. At least that might help me understand Percy a bit more."  
  
"Percy?"  
  
"Yeah, he's gay. Came out to the family last year."  
  
"But he had a girlfriend!"  
  
"He was in denial, I guess. And he didn't have a Draco Malfoy handy, so who can blame him?" Ron smirked.  
  
"Ron!" Harry shrieked at his laughing friend. He pouted. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"  
  
Ron grinned. "Nope."  
  
Harry sat in thought for a moment. "Ron? Do you like, um, using the um, like." he drifted off awkwardly.  
  
"Uh, yeah," Ron blushed.  
  
"How did you know? You've never been with a boy. I just. I'm curious, I guess."  
  
"I found Percy's supply of Playwitch once. Let's just say that they're very educational."  
  
"And Hermione doesn't know?"  
  
"I don't really know how to tell her. It's not like I want to be with guys, it's just that I like a little something... extra. And we haven't done enough for me to bring it up."  
  
"Wow. But she's given you blow jobs?"  
  
"Yes, and very well."  
  
"Unfortunately she told me that. She wants me to do the same for Malfoy."  
  
"Blow Malfoy? Ugh. That's just wrong."  
  
"That's what I think!"  
  
"Well, you have done a lot with him though. And I'm sure he's more pleasant when he's speechless."  
  
"True."  
  
"Too much information, Harry!"  
  
"But you said! Never mind."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Yea."  
  
"Right."  
  
Ron shot Harry a worrying glance. "This is getting weird, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
"Well, Harry, mate - you know you can talk to me whenever you need anything. I'll try to be, uh, understanding. And if I'm not, Hermione will make me be anyway."  
  
"Yeah. Um, thanks Ron."  
  
Ron smiled sheepishly at him and left the room.  
  
"I hate my life." Harry flopped down into his duvet and covered his head with a pillow.  
  
**  
  
Friday. Potions Class. Again.  
  
It was becoming Harry and Malfoy's habitual meeting place. Well, it was the place where they chose to pass each other 'subtle' messages, at least. Harry knew that he had to get Malfoy somewhere private so he could give him a blowjob. Sounded simple enough, but he had no idea how to do it. Malfoy was still considerably peeved over what had happened in the Prefects' bathroom on Monday, apparently. He blatantly ignored Harry in both Transfiguration and Charms; he even refrained from sniping at him and delegating Crabbe and Goyle to threaten Harry or his friends.  
  
Harry was quite put out, really. Negative attention was better than no attention, after all. So, here he sat in Potions again, watching the back of Malfoy's head. He really did have pretty hair. If only he didn't gel it so much. Could that really be his natural color? Maybe -  
  
Damn it. Snape.  
  
"Considering your abysmal performance in my class," Professor Snape droned at Harry, "as well as the high likelihood of your failing your Potions NEWT, Potter, I suggest you pay better attention to my lectures."  
  
"Yes, Professor Snape," he mumbled.  
  
Oooooh. Malfoy craned his neck a bit to look at the altercation. Perhaps irking Snape was the way to go. And he could get another detention, and maybe Malfoy would show up again...  
  
"Class dismissed," Snape asserted.  
  
Wow. Harry hadn't even realized that so much time had passed. He wouldn't be able to land detention unless he pulled off something big. Damn. Well, he'd probably have more privacy somewhere else anyway.  
  
The class proceeded to collect their belongings and shuffle out of the classroom.  
  
"Malfoy!" Harry called out to Draco in an insistent whisper before he could move away from his seat.  
  
"What?" Draco snapped back, the word hanging from his lips like venom.  
  
Snape, who was sorting through some 2nd years' scrolls on the properties and uses of Wolfsbane, glanced up at the two boys and arched an eyebrow in muted interest. This was the third time in so many weeks that the two antagonists had begun an altercation in his class. Surely their natural enmity had not stepped above its normal level?  
  
"I - " Harry started before losing his nerve to be direct and commanding as he had planned. "I. I'm taking a bath tonight," he finished lamely.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Well, Potter, I'm pleased to know that you engage in semi-frequent acts of bathing. Now why the fuck are you telling *me*?"  
  
"Oh," Harry stammered as he glanced at his feet, "I just thought you might like to know. You know, um, in case you need to, um, use the Prefects' bathroom."  
  
Draco's eyes flared. "*You're* not even supposed to use the Prefects' bathroom, Potter!"  
  
"Oh, well, yes - but still. I'll be there. Tonight."  
  
"You're fucking nutters, Scarhead," Draco shook his head in disdain as he picked up his bag and strode away from Harry.  
  
**  
  
That night, around nine o'clock, Draco strolled into the Prefects bathroom.  
  
"Well, well, well Potter," Draco drawled, "fancy finding you here. And here I thought your cryptic little message was all in an effort to bed me, but you're actually bathing."  
  
"It is a bathroom, Malfoy," Harry retorted, rolling his eyes.  
  
"My bathroom, not yours, may I remind you?"  
  
"I have every right to use this bathroom, Malfoy."  
  
"Oh, really? Last I checked you weren't a Prefect. Nor are you Head Boy, as I am," he smirked.  
  
"I might as well have been a Prefect, Malfoy. Extenuating circumstances are the only reason I wasn't."  
  
"How delusional are you, Potter?"  
  
"No, Malfoy. Dumbledore told me."  
  
"What?" Draco raised his eyebrows amusedly. "That you were just too fragile to take on the responsibility, so he gave it to your impoverished, underdog friend?"  
  
Harry didn't say anything.  
  
"Wow, Potter. That's pathetic."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy."  
  
"No, really - that's really, really sad." He was grinning. "You are truly pathetic. Dumbledore thinks you're too weak to handle a bit of hallway duty."  
  
"That's not true!"  
  
"It's what you just told me."  
  
"Dumbledore didn't make me Prefect because I'd just seen Cedric Diggory die. Because Voldemort nearly killed me. Remember that, you prat?"  
  
"Well, if that's the case, then you'll be relegated to shirking responsibility for life."  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Is there something you know that I don't, Malfoy? Voldemort's plans - something your father told you?"  
  
"No, you git. It's actually rather common knowledge that Voldemort wants to kill you, and if he goes about it in the fashion that he has before, you'll be battling him for centuries."  
  
"Very funny."  
  
"No, I'm serious," Draco said in earnest as he nodded his head. "He's an idiot, so this could go on for quite sometime."  
  
"Listen Malfoy, if you think that you can just bait me -"  
  
"Dear God, Potter, you're quite the mood killer. I didn't come here to talk about Voldemort and the chip on your shoulder, I thought you wanted to shag."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"That little message today in Potions? It's clear that you want to have your wicked little way with me," he grinned, "and who am I to deny you?"  
  
"Déjà vu."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I think you've said that before and, if I recall, you couldn't follow through."  
  
"You've got to be bloody kidding me, Potter."  
  
"No, Malfoy, I'm not. You ran out of here like a little schoolgirl." Harry leaned close to Draco's ear until he could feel the Gryffindor's hot breath puffing against his skin. "I guess I got you a little too hot, huh?"  
  
"Fuck you, Potter!"  
  
"That could be arranged."  
  
Draco started at his gaul. "What the fuck has gotten into you? You get within a twenty mile radius of this bloody bathroom and you turn into a slut."  
  
"You like it."  
  
"Ugh! Get off me, you freak!" Malfoy struggled against the onslaught of Harry's lips and arms. "I mean, ugh, no! You. you."  
  
Harry abandoned Draco's mouth and kissed his way down his chest, unbuttoning Malfoy's shirt as he went. His agile fingers worked on the clasp of Draco's trousers.  
  
"I, uh. uh..." he trailed off, falling into the sensation of Harry's tongue, which had found its way to tip of Draco's growing erection.  
  
End Chapter Nine 


	11. The Naughty Things a Parselmouth Can Do

Chapter Ten: The Naughty Things a Parselmouth Can Do  
  
Harry's palm against Draco's bare hip felt sweaty and sticky, but coupled with the sensation of Harry's tongue trailing up and down Draco's length, it seemed erotic and not as uncomfortable as it might be.  
  
Draco threw his head back and flailed his arms about, searching for something on which to brace himself. Though Potter had only just started, Draco was already feeling a bit weak in the knees and didn't want to fall should his legs give out. Unfortunately, Draco found himself standing in the middle of the bathroom with nothing tangible nearby. He'd have to settle for clasping onto Potter.  
  
He splayed the fingers of his right hand in Harry's messy black curls and grabbed hold of them. Dear God - Potter did condition well. Though they looked a mess from afar, his hair was soft to the touch and not at all tangled as Draco had expected.  
  
Harry glanced up at Draco at the added pressure, his green eyes peering over the rim of his clunky glasses..  
  
Why'd he have to look up? Now Draco *really* knew that this was real - Harry Potter was going down on him. Shouldn't he be protesting? He didn't like this; he was being violated, he - fuck - he loved every bloody second of it. Pansy was never this good, but Potter was a fucking expert.  
  
"God, yes Potter!" Draco groaned, slapping his left hand over his mouth as soon as the words escaped his lips, as if to hold them back. Why did he say that? He wasn't supposed to let Potter know that he had power over him.  
  
Jesus Christ - was he talking with Draco *in* his mouth? Draco could feel the vibration from Harry's vocal chords in the back of his throat and his tongue was doing some very naughty things to him - well, as much naughtier than before as they could be. He strained to hear what Harry was saying.  
  
It wasn't in a language Draco understood, that much was sure. Or maybe he was losing all ability to speak English in lieu of the situation.  
  
Harry brought his mouth just to the tip and continued to converse against him.  
  
Nope, that definitely wasn't English. It was. it was -  
  
"Potter! Are you speaking fucking Parseltongue?" Draco spat.  
  
Harry stopped. Draco whimpered at the loss of pressure.  
  
"I didn't mean to," Harry mumbled as he wiped his mouth with his hand. "You, um, - you have a snake tattoo on your hip. I guess I just. sorry."  
  
"It's not a snake you idiot - it's the sign of the Slytherin house. A serpant."  
  
"Oh," Harry blushed and looked away.  
  
"Well, keep the fuck on, Potter," Draco demanded. "That was bloody brilliant."  
  
Harry smiled sheepishly and took Draco into his mouth once more. Draco sighed contentedly. Where had Potter learned this? And why did he still have his clothes on?  
  
"Potter!" Draco commanded.  
  
"Hmm?" Harry questioned and looked up at Draco, but didn't abandon his pursuits.  
  
"Take your clothes off."  
  
"What?" Harry pulled back from Draco and stumbled in an effort to stand.  
  
"I said take your clothes off. I refuse to be the only one naked here."  
  
"You're not."  
  
"Naked? I have my trousers round my knees and my friendlier parts in your mouth. I'd say that makes me quite naked. Now have at it, Potter."  
  
Harry's mouth flapped open and shut like a fish out of water, then he nodded numbly. He clumsily started to unknot his tie and pull his elbows towards his sides so he could get his vest off. He did this while toeing his shoes off, hopping around on one foot as he tried to coordinate it all.  
  
Potter was so adorable when he was nervous. Adorable? No - sexy. He was hot, so shag-worthy. Fuck. No he wasn't - he was stupid prat who was taking altogether too much time getting his clothes off.  
  
"Christ, Potter! I don't see how you ever get anything done at all, at the rate you're going," Draco chided Harry and grabbed hold of him harshly.  
  
"Arms up!" Draco demanded, yanking the sweater vest over the boy's head as he complied. He yanked down the zipper on Harry's trousers and forcefully pushed down both his trousers and boxer shorts in one go.  
  
Harry stepped out of the garments clumsily and Malfoy tossed them aside before standing back up. On the way, he noticed that Potter was half hard already, which actually made Draco strain even further, if possible. Fuck. This was just a convenient blow job, Draco told himself, not a turn on. Harry Potter was not a turn on. Hell - the only reason Draco wanted him naked at all was because he knew it would embarrass the hell out of the smug Gryffindor, not to mention degrade him a bit.  
  
The fact that seeing the boy naked quickened Draco's heartbeat a bit was just a side affect. No big deal at all. For all he knew, Potter had used another nasty charm on him. He'd already fucked with his memory and had him waking with a hard-on every morning, why not use a spell to make Draco think he actually liked this?  
  
"You're incapable of the simplest things, you half wit." Draco shook himself from his internal rationalization and finished Harry off by unbuttoning his shirt, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it aside. "I don't see how you ever defeated the Dark Lord, unless he's as daft as you are." Draco drifted off in thought. "On the other hand, yes, I do see. Okay, down you go again."  
  
Draco pushed down on Harry's shoulders, sending him to his knees.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry questioned indignantly, looking up at Draco with his eyes narrowed.  
  
"What do you think it means? It means you're going to put your mouth back where it belongs - on me."  
  
"Not that, Malfoy, the bit about Voldemort."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "It means nothing, Potter. Less prattling, more sucking."  
  
"No! It does mean something," Harry smirked. "You think he's daft."  
  
"And if I do?" Draco huffed, putting his hands on his hips.  
  
"Then you wouldn't be the sheep I thought you were."  
  
"Shut up Potter. Talk of Voldemort and farm animals does nothing for my libido."  
  
"Doesn't look like it to me.do you always get this excited discussing evil Overlords?"  
  
"I am *not* excited!"  
  
"Malfoy, you're leaking."  
  
"I am NOT leaking!!! Malfoys do not leak. We.secrete."  
  
"Secrete?"  
  
"Yes Potter! Now fucking get to taking care of my. secretion."  
  
Harry shook his head with disdain and went back to work.  
  
Dear God - Potter was going at him like he would an ice lolly. He even. oh, yeah - he used his teeth slightly. Draco nearly shouted out in protest, until he realized that it wasn't at all painful. The dull sensation was almost pleasant.  
  
Draco wondered where Potter had learned this. Sure, he'd heard that those two Gryffindor prats Finnegan and Thomas were poufs, but somehow he couldn't picture a Gryffindor teaching orgy. They were too prim and proper for that kind of thing.  
  
Maybe someone from another house? Probably a Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff ponce would be hard and begging for The Boy That Sucked (Well) before you could say "Ooh, something shiny!"  
  
But as far as he'd heard, Potter only had been with girls. Draco and everyone else knew about the Chang disaster, but it was sure that Potter had learned nothing about blow jobs from her - she was rubbish at it. No matter what she tried to tell Draco, he just couldn't buy tears as an excellent lubricant.  
  
And the word all through sixth year was that Potter hadn't gone anywhere near a girl. That's when the rumors started that he might be a pouf. But no one could confirm that he had actually been with any boys, so where had he learned this? Who could have -  
  
"Hey!" Draco exclaimed at the sudden loss of warmth as Harry retreated from him. "What are you.. Oh, yes, yes, that's brilliant, Potter."  
  
This gave new meaning to the term blow job - Potter was blowing air gently over Draco's penis, moist from Potter's earlier ministrations. This produced a pleasant cooling sensation. But it wouldn't get him off.  
  
"Potter, as lovely as I find your creative efforts to be different, I would appreciate it if you go back to sucking me off, okay?"  
  
He nodded numbly and in a moment Draco found himself in the warm recesses of Potter's mouth once more.  
  
"You know, Potter - uh, yeah - you're really - mmmm - quite good at this." Draco spoke snarkily through his arousal as Potter took him deeper into his mouth than before. "I wonder how many boys you had to get off with before you got this good. I bet you've had every boy in Gryffindor, which, I must say, is a bit of a turn on. So, Potter - did Weasel scream your name when he came, or was it mine?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Draco muttered as Harry mumbled deep in his throat. "Mmmmnnnn. hey, fuck!" Draco jumped back from Harry. "You bit me, Potter. You actually fucking bit me!"  
  
"I didn't bite you Malfoy, you drama queen," Harry retorted.  
  
"There were definitely teeth involved, Potter."  
  
"I barely scraped you. besides, you deserved it, you prat!" Harry spat at him, wiping at his mouth and staring at Draco, eyes aflame. "How dare you talk about my friends like that, you bloody sodding arsehole!"  
  
"Touchy, are we?" Draco smirked. "But, really, Potter - "scraping" that hard - not fucking cool!" His smirk shifted to a sly grin. "But that nice little scraping technique you used earlier was lovely. You might like to practice a bit more. I don't know about you, but NOW would be a lovely fucking time." Draco snapped his fingers and pointed to his groin.  
  
"We're not finished with this, Malfoy," Harry seethed.  
  
"Well," Draco rolled his eyes, "obviously not."  
  
"Not *that*," Harry rolled his eyes back.  
  
"You're going to finish *that* before I'll discuss anything further, Potter."  
  
Harry shot Draco a look before returning to his pursuits. He engulfed Draco with such fervor, that Draco was knocked back on his heels. Thrusting a hand into the Gryffindor's dark curls, he steadied himself.  
  
"Christ, yes Potter!" Draco cried out.  
  
Harry worked Draco fast and hard with his mouth and hand, sending Draco beyond all rational thought.  
  
"I. um. yeah." Draco trailed off and eventually chose to remain silent.  
  
******  
  
Harry couldn't believe that he was doing this. Here he was on his knees, holding onto Draco Malfoy's hips until he was practically white at the knuckles, and Draco Malfoy's penis, of all things, was in his mouth.  
  
Hermione hadn't told him how uncomfortable this would be. Malfoy was of a reasonable size, so Harry's mouth was open a good deal, his jaw popped in such a way that after five minutes or so, Harry's entire mouth ached. Moreover, Malfoy had become a bit aggressive, and was currently rocking his hips in rhythm to the Gryffindor's movements. Harry kept trying not to gag. Hermione had told him something about swallowing, with which he was having a tough time, what with the total lack of air that he was receiving.  
  
At least Malfoy had stopped talking. The last thing Harry needed while he was trying to be sexy and alluring was being reminded of how much he hated Malfoy, the snarky bastard. Currently, the only sounds coming from Malfoy were the occasional unintelligible murmur and an odd moan here and there.  
  
From Malfoy's moans and fervent exclamations of "fuck yes," and "God Potter," Harry gathered that he was doing all right. And once he got past the initial discomfort, he almost liked this. Malfoy may not have tasted quite like an ice lolly, but he certainly did have his own appealing taste, of sorts.  
  
Harry had never been overly keen on sweets, anyway, having not gotten many as a child. He had always preferred salty things, like crisps. Malfoy tasted... tangy, yet sophisticated, like a delicacy.  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Malfoy was grunting now and had settled into a steady rhythm.  
  
So what did this all mean? Harry was incredibly aware that pretty soon Malfoy would come, and they would suddenly be at a point at which they had never been before. Up til now, it had just been teasing, flirting, taunting. It doesn't count if he didn't come. Harry had said that before, hadn't he? Well, this was about to count.  
  
Then what? Did he want a relationship with Malfoy? He didn't think so. Well, probably not. How would he go about doing that anyway? He somehow couldn't picture them dating, giving into all the corny traditions of hand holding, gifts, and making out at the movies. Though the making out part did sound nice.  
  
But he still hated him; he definitely did. Malfoy had been nothing but a constant source of irritation for Harry for the past six years. He was always there, sneering at Harry and making life at Hogwarts impossible. His sole occupation seemed to be to torment Harry at every possible moment. And whether Harry liked it or not, it was impossible to have a civilized conversation with him; no matter what Harry did Malfoy always got into a flap.  
  
And as far as he was concerned, it had always been like this and always would be. But then the sex got in the way. Well, not actual sex, just sex in general. He was attracted to Malfoy, that was quite obvious at this point, and Harry's wanting to shag him was a moot point.  
  
At first, Harry had thought he could keep real life and a sex life separate, but he was beginning to think that wasn't possible. How could who you were shagging - the person who occupied your thoughts twenty-four hours a day - not affect the other parts of your life? Harry couldn't play the hero, fighting a war against Voldemort, and go about shagging Malfoy as well. They were past the intangible bits - the harmless flirting and teasing. It was about to be real, and they would have to deal with the consequences.  
  
At that moment, most appropriately, Draco cried out, "Potter!"  
  
Harry's eyes went wide when he realized that Malfoy was about to come. He panicked, gagging suddenly, and he tried to pull away. Malfoy held him fast, though, nearly choking Harry as he came violently in his mouth.  
  
Trying not to gag and sputter, Harry forced his throat muscles to swallow, though he grimaced as the sour substance slid past his taste buds.  
  
Okay, they would have to work on that finish if they were to continue with this shagging thing.  
  
Malfoy threw his head back in satisfaction and smiled wearily.  
  
"That," he articulated, "was fucking brilliant Potter."  
  
Harry leaned back on his haunches, massaging his aching jaw with his hands and gazing up at Malfoy skeptically. "A compliment from you? That's rich."  
  
"Don't look so pleased," Malfoy placed his hands upon his hips, "I'm always a bit off after orgasm. You know, a bit out of my head and the like. Don't worry, Potter, in every other way you are still entirely inadequate."  
  
"Thanks," Harry answered wryly.  
  
They both fell silent.  
  
"Well," Draco huffed nervously and shifted his weight from one foot to another.  
  
"Well," Harry countered, looking away from Malfoy.  
  
After realizing that he must look ridiculous, still being on his knees, Harry got up. For a moment he was torn between standing with his hands on his hips, showing Malfoy that he was every bit as manly as he, and covering his visibly aroused dick with his hands. In the end, he went for the former, standing with one hip cocked to the side and raising an eyebrow at Malfoy expectantly. He could play at this sexy thing as well as anyone, right?  
  
"I really hope you weren't expecting any reciprocation, Potter," Malfoy drawled, "because, frankly, I'm not really keen."  
  
"Not keen?" Harry seethed. "What do you mean, you're not fucking keen?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Draco looked around nonchalantly, "Just don't feel like it, really. After all, it is you, isn't it?"  
  
"What do you mean, it's me! Do you think you're a bloody picnic? Fuck off, Malfoy!"  
  
Instead of responding, Malfoy simply smirked. Harry snapped.  
  
"Why do you always have to be such an arse?" he threw his hands up as seethed at Malfoy, who looked pleased at having gotten a rise out of the Gryffindor.  
  
"You stand there, all snarky and superior, and all you ever have to say is something cutting and negative. I don't see how you have any friends at all," he paused. "Do you have any friends, Malfoy?" Harry gestured at Malfoy to answer this, although it was clearly meant as a rhetorical question.  
  
"You know," he continued, softening his tone slightly, though not in a reassuring way, "I don't think you do. Because nobody likes you." Harry finished harshly.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Harry cut him off.  
  
"No! You always have to say something, don't you? Well, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear about what your father thinks, or how stupid you find me, or how your fucking Lord Voldemort is going to kill me. It's old, Malfoy. And I'm just sick of it! And in case you haven't noticed Malfoy, your father is in Azkaban for attempted murder, I'm in the same bloody NEWTs level courses as you, and I bloody well know that Voldemort is going to kill me, thank you very much. I don't need to hear it from you."  
  
"Well, Potter," Draco finally managed to get a word in edgewise, "allow me to interrupt your little tirade for a moment, if I may."  
  
Harry simply narrowed his eyes at him and stood trying to catch his breath and compose himself.  
  
"Right. Lovely," Malfoy smirked. "You're very entertaining when you get worked up, you know. I was just waiting for a vein to pop or something."  
  
Malfoy took a step towards Harry, smirking. "Don't worry, Potter, if you want a blow job, I'll oblige. No need to shout about it."  
  
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Did you hear anything that I said? You... I don't get you. You go on and on about being so superior to everyone, but then you can be so dense."  
  
"Some people, Potter," Draco suddenly spat, losing the amused front from a moment before, "simply choose to ignore the more crude and unpleasant effects of social interaction. I'm not dense - I'm guarded, you idiot."  
  
"Guarded? Is that a new word for 'being a poncy self-absorbed arsehole'?" Harry sneered at him.  
  
"God Potter, with all the schooling we get, I'd expect you to have a wider vocabulary," Draco returned wittily.  
  
"Stop being funny, Malfoy," Harry pleaded crossly. "Can't you just stop and be serious for one minute?"  
  
"Serious about what?"  
  
"Serious about the fact that we're standing in the Prefect's bathroom, naked, and you've just had your... penis in my mouth," Harry proclaimed, throwing his arms up. He caught the bemused look on Malfoy's face and calmed down. "I seem to... fancy you, and you seem to fancy me as well. We have a serious problem."  
  
"Sure as hell does sound like a serious problem, Potter. You seem to think that I fancy you. You're mad," Draco wagged his finger at Harry and shook his head facetiously.  
  
"I'm not mad, I'm trying to have a serious, civilized conversation with you and you just don't get it."  
  
"You call that a civilized conversation?" Draco pointed emphatically to his side and arched his eyebrows. "What do you call it when you're not yelling erratically at the top of your voice? Dainty whispering?"  
  
"Please, Malfoy, you wouldn't know how to carry on a civilized conversation if it came up and bit you in the arse."  
  
"First of all, Potter, you're really crude, you know that? And second, I'm a Malfoy, raised to the highest social standards. I could kick your arse in the civilized conversation department."  
  
"It doesn't count as civilized conversation when you smirk and condescend to the person, carefully insulting them through humor," Harry countered archly.  
  
"Maybe not where you come from," Draco smacked his lips together haughtily. "Afterall, growing up in a hovel with dirty Muggles does tend to skew one's perception of the social graces."  
  
"What do you know about 'where I come from'?" Harry sneered.  
  
"I know that you grew up with... Muggles," he emphasized derisively, "and that, judging from your bizarrely misguided hero complex, that they kissed your arse every way to Sunday for ten years." "Then you clearly know nothing about me, Malfoy, if that's what you think."  
  
"What? Did they dare to ignore poor, precious Potter? What a pity. Why don't you cry about it?" He waggled his eyebrows up and down once in challenge.  
  
Harry lunged forward and shoved Malfoy back a good five feet against the marble wall. "Don't you dare presume to know me!" He pinned Malfoy's lower body against the wall with his hips and weight, and held him fast by the shoulders with his hands.  
  
Malfoy whimpered slightly at the contact, and Harry cursed his arousal, realizing that he was still hard. For a moment, the Slytherin looked torn between anger and another swell of arousal, but before Harry could discern which it was, Malfoy sneered at him defiantly and pushed back against him.  
  
Pressing his fingers dangerously close to Malfoy's windpipe, Harry scowled at him and pushed him up against the marble one more time for good measure. Malfoy gasped, his eyes bulging in shock and pain, before he settled his gaze on Harry, torn between defiance and fear.  
  
"You've come unhinged, you psycho!" Draco rasped, struggling against the boy who had made it clear, time and time again, that he was stronger.  
  
"What do you think you know about my family? What do you think happened to me after Voldemort," he paused for emphasis before hissing, "your Lord, murdered my parents?"  
  
Malfoy half shrugged, as best he could, his eyes flaring with definite anger this time.  
  
"Yes, Malfoy, Dumbledore whisked me off to a Muggle paradise, where my family worshiped the ground I walked on. That makes sense. That's why I hate going home. Why I come to school every year wearing oversized hand-me- down clothes. Why the best I can get for a Christmas present from them is one of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Because I'm treated like a hero at home."  
  
Harry glared at him. "You have the worst fucking deduction skills I've ever seen. You're completely ignorant about anything going on around you if it has nothing to do with your precious ego."  
  
Harry ceased his ranting, waiting for a response from Malfoy.  
  
"He's not my Lord," Malfoy started in a small but defiant voice.  
  
"What?" Harry questioned incredulously.  
  
"He's not my fucking Lord!" Malfoy almost shrieked this time, though Harry's hold on his throat was obstructing the air in such a way that it came out no louder than a squeak. "You're one to talk about prejudice, Potter," he hissed. "You make all sorts of presumptions about me based on my father. Do you think that's any different? That because you're Saint Potter, with sparkling morals and courage, that your view of things isn't fucking skewed? Stop being such a hypocrite and get your hands off me!"  
  
This time when Draco pushed, Harry relinquished his hold and stepped back several feet. He crossed his arms cross his chest and narrowed his eyes at the blonde angrily.  
  
"I don't need to look to your father to make presumptions about you, Malfoy. I need only look at you. I make judgements about you, based on your actions," Harry sneered at him. "You practically have 'Die Mudblood, Die' tatooed on your forehead. It's more than a fair assumption that you're a Death Eater," he paused, and peered at Draco's left arm.  
  
"Can I not see it because it's not there, or because Voldemort isn't snapping his fingers for you just now?"  
  
"Fuck off."  
  
"What?" Harry smirked at him. "Can't handle the tough questions? You can't accuse me of presumption, of hypocrisy, if you actually have the Mark. What's the answer, Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy's mouth was set in a straight line and he was visibly straining against his anger. Then, suddenly, he looked confused for a moment and then smiled wickedly.  
  
"Why are you here, Potter?"  
  
Harry looked at him, dumbfounded.  
  
"Seriously," he continued, "why would Harry Potter want to shag a Death Eater? Why would Dumbledore's prodigy want to suck Draco Malfoy off? It all seems a bit funny to me."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Malfoy."  
  
Draco smirked. "Or maybe you want to feel a bit closer to the dark side. Maybe you're not so opposed to Voldemort, afterall?"  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy."  
  
"Now who can't handle the tough questions?"  
  
Harry breathed roughly through his nostrils, incensed at Malfoy's questioning.  
  
"Maybe I just needed some, and you were convenient."  
  
"You think I'd actually let you get some of anything from me, Potter? I'm not a pouf like you," Draco spat the word 'poof' out as if it were a vermin on the tip of his tongue.  
  
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You were practically begging me for it last week." Harry raised an eyebrow defiantly. "You're as queer as I am."  
  
Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry, quietly stewing.  
  
"No more of this, Potter," he spat suddenly. "No more cryptic messages, no more late night trysts in the Prefects' Bathroom, no more kissing, no more touching." He shook his head in disgust. "You're a filthy poof and you'd do good never to come near me again."  
  
Malfoy, his clothes bundled in his arms, stalked out of the Prefects' Bathroom naked for the second time in a few short weeks.  
  
End Chapter Ten 


End file.
